Winter's Song
by homeric
Summary: Fulcinia was trapped, Dagonet was lost, but hope always comes at a price.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The wind was bitter as Fulcinia slipped through the kitchen doorway and into the courtyard. The high walls of the fort provided a little shelter, but the cobblestones were icy, and the sky was dark and heavy with the promise of snow. Walking quickly, she kept the small parcel of still warm bread tucked against her stomach and covered by her cloak. The guards at the gate didn't seem bothered by where she went or what she did, but Marius had started asking her where she disappeared to in the mornings, and it was only a matter of time before her husband asked one of the servants to spy on her.

The … Fulcinia hesitated to call them men of God, for their actions were every bit as barbaric as the savages they purported to save, paid her no mind when she entered the dungeon. At first she had been frightened of them; convinced that they would go running to her husband to inform him of her treachery as soon as she left their little piece of hell. The fear had proved unfounded, and it was with no small amount of disgust that Fulcinia realised that there was no room in their narrow minds for anything but the vengeful God they had promised themselves to. They thought her an emissary of His work, and, she thought as she padded down the stone steps as quiet as the stable cat, perhaps she was.

The smell hit her as it always did, heavy and putrid, but Fulcinia ignored it. Light was more of a problem: several of the torches had gone out, sending most of the dungeon into darkness. Re-lighting them cost valuable time, but imagining the poor souls trapped in the darkness gave her enough courage to take the time to make sure they were burning as brightly as they could.

_Two had died during the night._ An old man and a girl of perhaps ten summers. Fulcinia muttered a brief prayer as she hurried past their broken, twisted bodies. The girl had been a Woad child captured a month ago, the old man a villager who had been a little too vociferous in his condemnation of Rome. In the faint light they could have been merely a girl and her grandfather curled up together against the cold. Fulcinia shoved the thought away and hurriedly broke the bread she carried into pieces that would fit through the bars of the cells that contained the few remaining prisoners.

The little blond boy took it silently as he always did, the Woad woman more cautiously, although whether that was due to mistrust or the fact that her fingers were obviously broken, Fulcinia wasn't sure. Neither of them had uttered a word to her in the weeks that they had been imprisoned, and Fulcinia didn't blame them for their silence. Nonetheless she felt a little sick as she turned away from the young woman. Half starved and in obvious pain she might be, but there was a sharp intelligence in her eyes that implied that she was merely trapped, not broken.

The middle aged Woad in the far cell didn't acknowledge her when she approached him, but Fulcinia gave him the last of the bread anyway. Perhaps he would eat it when she was gone. Hurrying back up the stairs, she took a deep breath of the clean, frigid air and tried not to glance back at the innocuous looking doorway behind her.

When Marius had first suggested a torture chamber she had thought it merely one of his idle boasts; a silly whim borne of a man who missed the status and power he had enjoyed while in Rome. By the time she realised he was serious it was too late. Married off as a teenager, Fulcinia had no family to speak up for her, and her one attempt at petitioning her uncle for sanctuary had led to her letter being intercepted and scars on her back that were a silent reminder of what would happen to her if she dared disobey again.

Dipping her hand into her pocket, Fulcinia scattered the crumbs from the bread onto the grass at the back of the servants quarters. _It was a decent enough ruse_, she thought as robin fluttered down and flew off triumphantly with a bit of bread in its beak. The prisoners got fed, the birds got fed, and Marius merely thought her soft hearted and obsessed with Briton's wildlife.

A gust of wind scattered the breadcrumbs, and Fulcinia tucked her heavy, dark hair under the hood of her cloak. She was expected for breakfast, and she would play her part with a decade's worth of practice. For the sake of her son and for the sake of her sanity, she dared not hope for anything more.

**A/N: Short chappy for starters - the rest will be longer. This story has nothing to do with anything else I've written and will get a bit AU as we go along. I always wondered about Fulcinia's character, so this is my take on her story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Marius didn't look up when Fulcinia entered the dining hall and sat down, but nor did he comment on her tardiness, much to her relief. Alecto said nothing either, merely sliding over his side plate where he had saved her the end of the bread. Taking it, Fulcinia gave her son a brief smile. She had no doubt that he knew where she had been, but he kept his silence as she did her secrets, and as he gave her a conspiratorial wink she felt a familiar pang of love for him clench her belly where he had grown within her so many years before.

She ate daintily and made small talk with her son as they ate. He was eager to go back to Rome and train as a soldier - a familiar conversation and a hope that would most likely be realised. Alecto was tall and strong for his age, and coming from two families that had excelled on the battlefield it was only to be expected that he would follow in their footsteps. Marius's strengths lay more within the realms of politics, but he would not deny his only heir his dreams, and whatever his failings as a husband and Christian, he doted on the boy and was as keen for Alecto to show his worth as the boy was to prove it.

_But Rome was not the force that it had once been…_

Fulcinia shoved the thought away. Out here in the middle of nowhere any news of Rome was infrequent and usually long outdated by the time the messengers arrived with it. Rumours that the armies were abandoning their old strongholds were only that - rumours. Too much blood had been shed defending Briton to Rome to abandon it now, surely?

Wiping her fingers carefully on the linen square beside her plate, she rose to her feet. A servant girl darted forwards to collect the dirty dishes, and Fulcinia felt her heart sink when she saw Marius watch the pretty red head conduct her duties. The girl couldn't be much more than thirteen years old and obviously naïve enough to do whatever was asked of her whether she wanted to or not. Making an inward note to have the girl's chores changed to those of a kitchen assistant where she would be at least somewhat out the way of harm, Fulcinia left the room, smiling when her son followed her.

"He's growing suspicious, you know," Alecto said when they were out of earshot of his father. "They're going to die whether you feed them or not."

"_They _are people, Alecto," Fulcinia replied tartly. "Would you rather I let them starve in the dungeons?"

"I would rather you didn't give father an excuse to punish you." Alecto stopped and caught his mother's arm. "He'll kill them whatever you do - what's the point in prolonging their pain?"

_He had a point, _Fulcinia conceded, but still… to pretend that she didn't see what was happening and stand by and do nothing? _No. She wouldn't , _couldn't ,_ do that._

"I do what I must for my own conscience as much as anything," she said quietly. "I should have stopped his madness from the start."

Alecto looked at her with troubled dark eyes, and Fulcinia sighed before turning away. It wasn't fair on the boy to be pulled between the opposing beliefs of his parents, but there wasn't any way that it could be helped. Perhaps when he was safely shipped off to Rome he would find a mentor worthy of him. Her thoughts briefly turned to Pelagius, before sliding away again. Her uncle was dead, his teachings discarded by all who held power. Walking towards her chambers, she wondered just what Rome even was anymore. Its politics shifted slippery and treacherous as quicksand, advisors discarded as brutally as the unfortunate souls who were torn apart in the coliseum for the pleasure of the baying crowd. Out here far from the coast, it took weeks for any news to get through from her birthplace - for all she knew they had a new Emperor by now. Opening the door to her private chamber, she smiled at the maid who had been building a fire in the grate, and settled down onto the chair by the window, picking up her sewing as she did so. Glancing outside, she noted the first flecks of snow drift down and tucked her legs beneath her as she ran the thread through her unfinished tapestry.

Another cold day, but then since when was Briton anything but freezing?

* * *

Dagonet shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. His knees were so cold they seemed to have locked solid, and he'd lost the feeling in his fingers several days ago. Glancing at the silent forest around them, he muttered a brief thanks to the Gods that they hadn't encountered any Woads so far; he wasn't entirely sure that his sword wouldn't simply slip through his frozen hands if he tried to wield it.

Tristan, damn the wild thing that he was, seemed immune to the cold, Dagonet thought resentfully, watching the scout canter up to Arthur and exchange words. At least their commander was suffering along with the rest of them; his dark hair dusted with snow and his posture hunched against the icy wind. _It was just a shame that it was the wrong Roman that was suffering,_ he mused. _What he wouldn't give to put that pompous ass Bishop Germanus on a horse, drag him all over frozen Briton and set him in front of a couple of hundred murderous Saxons. Let him see where his faith got him then…_

"You've' got a face on you like a pickled arse." Bors's gruff voice brought him out of his reverie, and Dagonet suppressed a smile as his oldest friend rode up beside him. "Dunno what you're so grumpy about. Who need Samartia when you've got all this?" He gave a vague wave to their sorry procession. "Snow, the wildlife.."

"Most of it in Gawain's hair," Galahad added from in front of them.

"I heard that," the blond knight grumbled from behind them. "At least my ears are warm."

"Warm? What's that? Sounds like one of the stories Vanora tells the kids," Bors retorted. "Like sunshine. Remember that?"

"More Roman lies," Galahad retorted. "Like freedom, or honour or…"

With decades of practice Dagonet shifted his attention to his commander, ignoring the bickering that surrounded him. Arthur had turned his stallion and was heading back towards them, his face serious. Dagonet didn't bother looking at Tristan who was whistling for his hawk - the entire world could be aflame and the scout's face probably wouldn't register any readable expression.

"Knights?"

Arthur's grave tone silenced the others as soon as he spoke, and for once the news was not as bad as it could have been. The Saxons were close, that much was indisputable, but they too were close to their destination, and from Arthur's orders they would be gone from the Roman villa in as much time as it took to grab the family and whatever they could carry. Dagonet's thoughts strayed to the scrolls waiting back at the fort tied in their pretty red ribbons and hoarded in a box that was probably worth as much as his horse. Five days riding had got them here, five days riding would take them back. Back to the glossy wooden box and the pieces of paper that would give he and his brothers their freedom.

Kicking his horse into a canter, he followed his commander, Bors, finally silent at his side. The snow was coming down faster now, obliterating their tracks, but the path they followed was broad and clear, and it was only a few minutes before it opened up into a wide meadow. The Roman villa sat ivory and opulent in the hollow of the valley, the hills surrounding it curving up around it as though to give the trees a better look as to what went on inside. The guards scurried to close the gate, and Dagonet inwardly sighed. _Useless idiots and totally unprepared for any sort of attack. If they had arrived with hostile intentions they could have taken the lot of them out in moments._ Luckily for both parties Arthur was so obviously Roman and the guards so intimidated by his commands, it was no trouble to gain entrance to the villa.

Indeed all the trouble resided behind its solid gates anyway.

Dagonet felt the bile rise in his throat as they made their way towards the main house. Scrawny, malnourished men and women watched their progress lethargically, children dressed in tatty clothing that surely could not keep them warm, peeking out from behind their mother's skirts. _Rome's more pathetic victims, _he thought to himself. Smiling at a small girl whose eyes looked too big for her face, he turned his attention back to his horse when she scuttled away with a squeak of fear.

"Gods, I hope he's got a sturdy horse," Galahad murmured as a white clad man stepped out of the house to greet them. As clearly self satisfied as he was rotund, he showed no fear at facing the knights and apparently expected nothing less than obsequiousness from their commander. With mild amusement, Dagonet watched the mans face turn red and then puce when Arthur made no attempt to toady to the man and ordered him and his family out of their home. Half listening to the man's outraged spluttering, his attention was caught by a flutter of red. Bright against the snow, the red cloak covered a woman of perhaps thirty five summers, her eyes dark and wary as she watched the heated exchange.

_Marius's wife,_ Dagonet guessed, feeling a brief pang of pity for the woman for having to have to put up with such an insufferable man for a husband. Remembering the pathetic souls they had seen when they had entered the villa, he quickly shoved away any sympathy for her. Obviously she had done nothing to help their plight - it wasn't her starving or freezing out in the fields. Beside her stood a boy, whom Marius introduced as Alecto. The main reason for their Gods forsaken scramble out here in Saxon country, Dagonet thought bitterly. But he had to give him credit, he thought grudgingly, the boy faced them with a steady gaze and no evident fear, and there were hardened warriors who could not say the same.

An argument between a couple of the serfs and a soldier attracted his attention, and hearing Lancelot swear under his breath, Dagonet had the uncomfortable feeling that their simple mission was about to become a lot more complicated. Sure enough, Arthur was dismounting and marching towards a group of villagers who didn't seem to know whether to be more afraid of the Roman commander approaching them or the soldiers who were yelling at them to continue their duties.

Hefting the pommel of his sword into his hand, Dagonet made sure that the blade was not hindered by any ice that might have accumulated in their ride. Following his fellow knights, he nudged his horse forward, his attention only briefly caught by the woman in the red cloak who glanced at him briefly, before disappearing quick as a fox into the villa.

**A/N I took a bit of a liberty in making Fulcinia Pelagius's niece. She obviously had compassion for those of lower rank when Marius accused her of feeding the prisoners, and I found it interesting that Alecto knew so much about Pelagius when he'd grown up in the middle of nowhere - so there we go.**

**Sorry for not replying to reviews - they were very much appreciated though; I hope a quick update makes up for it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Fulcinia hurried towards the kitchens, doing her best to merely walk swiftly and not break into a run. Despite the snow that clogged her eyelashes and soaked the hem of her skirts she felt almost feverishly hot.

_Rome was abandoning them._

Part of her wanted to protest; to lay out all the arguments why it could not be so, but she did not have the talent for self deception that her husband had. One look at the handsome Roman commander's face and she had known his words to be true. Roman or not, the Saxons wouldn't care - serf, maid or mistress of the Villa - they would all bleed the same if they did not escape. _Oh but Marius's face when Arthur had threatened to drag him back to Hadrian's Wall.._ Fear and panic made Fulcinia unable to suppress a shrill giggle, and she had to curb her mounting hysteria when Cate, one of the kitchen girls looked at her with alarm.

"It's alright." She tried to give the younger girl a reassuring smile; one that fell decidedly flat given the girl's worried expression, and set the girls to finding something suitable for the knights to eat. A platter of cold meat and bread was swiftly put together, as were several jugs of wine . Dithering slightly, Fulcinia wondered whether or not to put out plates as well. The knights Arthur travelled with looked barely less savage than the Woads that inhabited the forests, but, deciding that it couldn't hurt to be as polite as possible, she grabbed an armful of silver platters. _Marius couldn't complain too much, _she reasoned, nodding at Cate to follow her with the food. _The next people who would be dining off them would be probably Saxons after all._

Alecto met her half way to the gate, his eyes wide. Taking the plates from her, he nodded towards the village beyond. Arthur's cloak was bright against the drab surroundings, his sword flashing silver as he freed the old man cruelly chained and exposed to the elements. Fulcinia felt her stomach give a slow roll of panic, but the guards made no move to protest. _Not that she could blame them_, she thought. The knights were well armed and unafraid: even Marius seemed at a loss of what to do.

It was hard to see what was happening in the village, but when Arthur roared his anger when one of the serfs challenged him, for a moment Fulcinia was taken back in time and it was her uncle speaking, not a Roman soldier whom she had not spoken a word to.

"I tell you now. Marius is not of God.  
And you - all of you - were free from your first breath."

"Pelagius?" she whispered without thinking. Marius gave her a look of abject loathing, but Fulcinia barely noticed. Her uncle might be dead but it seemed that his teachings lived on; the knowledge awakened a brief flutter of what might have been happiness, despite the situation. She listened to Arthur instruct the serfs to gather what they could and realised that they were to accompany them to Hadrian's Wall. Apparently he had changed his mind about only taking her family with he and the knights. Her immediate reaction was panic; how would they all get away in time? Were they all to be slaughtered because of idealism? She caught the last thought and squashed it down with no little shame. What hypocrisy was this? To revel in the fact that her uncle's words of equality still held true and then baulk when they did not serve her best interests?

Turning to Cate, who was looking at the knights with eyes so wide Fulcinia briefly wondered whether she was snow blind, she nudged the younger girl none-too gently.

"Cate," she said firmly. "Go back inside, tell everyone you find that we are leaving immediately, and tell them to spread the word. The Saxons are coming." Cate gave a yelp of fear, and Fulcinia tightened her fingers on her shoulder until she had her attention again. "Tell them to take only what they can carry, and to dress as warmly as they can."

The kitchen girl nodded, and took off at a run. Making a mental inventory of all that they might need, Fulcinia walked swiftly over to the guards hovering by the gate. They looked uncertain; their swords held laxly by their sides, their eyes darting from Marius, to the knights, obviously at a loss as to what they should be doing. _Idiots, _Fulcinia thought to herself with no little annoyance. _Like ill trained puppies awaiting their master's orders._

"Scipio," she said sharply to the nearest man. He had almost a foot of height and a good fifty pounds weight on her, but he snapped to attention almost gratefully at her command. "As you can see, we are leaving." He nodded, but she didn't wait for him to say anything. " I need you to go to the stables and tell Antonius to hitch up every wagon we have, and to saddle all the spare horses. We'll need to take as much feed as we can carry as well. Quintus," she turned to the older, shorter man beside him. "Go to the kitchens, tell the girls to put all the food that they can in grain sacks. Tell them not to worry about the dishes aside from a small amount of basic plates and cutlery." Both men nodded and hurried off. Fulcinia watched them go and inwardly smiled - apparently she wasn't quite such a little mouse when circumstances called for action after all.

The serfs were moving, gathering their possessions, but Fulcinia's attention was caught by the men walling up the dungeon. Only she, Marius and a handful of monks knew what was behind the innocuous looking door. Did she dare let the Roman Commander know what horrors were yet to be uncovered? The faint pulse of Saxon drums echoed through the valley and this time she did not shiver merely from cold. There was a good chance that they would all die soon at the hands of the vicious invaders, if Marius killed her for telling the truth then what did it matter? Alecto would be safe with the Roman commander. Walking forward with new resolve she headed towards the knights.

As it happened she didn't have to say a word. Sextus, sadistic bastard that he was, had turned his attention back to the serfs bricking up the dungeon. Given that his voice carried in the crisp air and that everyone else was getting ready to flee, he couldn't have been more suspicious if he had tried. Fulcinia watched Arthur approach the soldier with a mixture of fear and wild hope. She wanted to cry out and beg him to save the wretches within, but Marius took two swift steps toward her and grabbed her arm, twisting her wrist savagely.

"Silence," he whispered harshly. "Unless you want to be left to greet the Saxons."

Fulcinia winced at the pain but inwardly rejoiced when Arthur motioned for one of his knights to break down the wall. The man was tall and broad shouldered, swinging his axe with a couple of well placed blows, the barrier crumbled as though it were made of sand. Marius protested, but his words were ignored; instead the huge knight kicked down the door and entered with his commander and several of his brothers-in-arms.

They could only have been in there for a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Fulcinia. Marius almost seemed to thrum with a panicky, nervous fury, but for once she wasn't afraid. Alecto seemed merely conflicted, _and why shouldn't he be? Everything Marius had told him about Rome had been turned on its head. _He gave her a nervous look, and had Fulcinia dared move away from Marius's grip she would have squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Water! Give me some water!"

Arthur's words rang out, and Fulcinia felt her heart leap. At least one of the prisoners still lived. Marius, obviously shocked, let go of her, and Fulcinia took advantage of his surprise, hurrying forward to the ragged bundle in the Roman commander's arms. A dark haired man was dribbling water into the prisoner's mouth, but from the choking that resulted, it was too much too soon. The man moved, and Fulcinia stepped forward to take his place. The Woad woman lay curled up on the ground, emaciated, filthy and only half conscious, but alive. Kneeling down, she carefully lifted the matted head and brushed the hair from out the woman's eyes.

"Easy now, you're free." She didn't know if the Woad could understand her, but a brief spark of what might have been recognition flared in her eyes, and Fulcinia did her best to convey her intentions with a smile and a gentle touch. From the corner of her eye, she saw the big knight emerge from the dungeon, something small cradled in his arms. A brief glimmer of dirty gold hair identified the prisoner as the young boy, and a little startled, Fulcinia watched as the knight who had moments before smashed down a formidable stronghold as though the barriers were nothing, laid the boy down as gently as thistledown. The brief moment of inattention cost her.

"You! You kept them alive!"

Marius's words had barely registered before his fist slammed into her face, and the ground rushed up to meet her in a flurry of flashing lights and bright white pain. Struggling to her knees, her ears ringing, Fulcinia watched with a dim surprise as her husband crumpled to the ground beside her, felled by the Roman commander. His feeble threats were met with disdain by Arthur who looked more than willing to kill him, and certainly more than capable.

_Gods… _

Marius gave her swift look that promised retribution far more eloquently than any words he could have said aloud, before getting to his feet and walking swiftly over to what was left of his guards. Fulcinia watched him go silently, emotions churning within her. No doubt she would pay for her disobedience and his humiliation when they were next alone, but for now there were much bigger problems to worry about. The Woad woman stirred beside her, and Fulcinia dragged her attention back to her. Painfully thin and dressed in what could barely count of rags, the girl must be freezing. Shrugging off her cloak, Fulcinia hesitated. She needed to lift the Woad up in order to wrap the heavy material around her small form. It was an intimate movement that needed trust and a certain surrender on the part of girl, and she was by no means certain that the would give it to a Roman. Gently, she hooked her hand underneath the Woad's bony shoulder blades and lifted her slightly, willing to retreat as any sign of distress. Instead the girl kept disconcertingly direct eyes upon her, shifting when Fulcinia tucked the cloak around her, even though she had to muffle a whimper of pain when her damaged hand jarred against the cold ground.

Bending her head down so that her heavy hair cloaked them both, Fulcinia hesitated briefly before speaking. She was in enough trouble as it was - making friends with the enemy of both Rome and the Sarmatian knights probably wasn't one of her better ideas, but the woman deserved whatever kindness she could give her.

"My name is Fulcinia." The roman woman wasn't sure whether the injured Woad understood her or not, but it seemed wrong to understand someone's pain and the cause of it without even knowing their name. She was about to try again in a more simplistic fashion when the girl spoke. Barely more than the ghost of a whisper, but clear enough to be understood.

"Guinevere."

"Guinevere?" Fulcinia did her best to smile. "We are leaving this place. All of us. The Saxons are coming."

The Woad's eyes widened, and Fulcinia spoke swiftly to reassure her. "It's alright, Arthur Castus and his knights have been sent to escort us to safety." Inwardly she winced at that - Guinevere had just spent a month being tortured in the name of Roman ideology; being dumped weak and defenceless into the power of another Roman probably wasn't much comfort to her. _Still better than being walled up in the dungeons or left to the Saxons.._

The Woad gave a brief half smile, and for a moment Fulcinia had the unsettling idea that she had read her thoughts and agreed with them. The moment was gone before it had time to register. Instead the woman made a feeble attempt to sit up.

"The others?"

Her voice was scratchy and thin from dehydration and lack of use, but Fulcinia knew what she meant immediately and was glad that they shared at least a little of the same language - it would certainly make things easier when it came to the coming exodus. Looking around, she saw the entrance to the dungeon being bricked up. There was a strange gleeful joy in the faces of the serfs who slammed the bricks down, shutting away the mouth of the little hell hole chink by chink, and muffling the hysterical litany of prayers that was now barely audible from within. _The bodies of those who died in there would be company for their captors, _she supposed. _But the boy… _

Sitting back on her heels, she looked around. The village was a hive of activity; villagers hitching scrawny horses and donkeys to carts, women and children shoving everything they could carry into bundles. Behind her the first of the Roman wagons were making their way through the gates, the horses so sleek and well fed that they looked almost a different species to their lower born counterparts. The knights were making the most of the food she and Cate had prepared, and she had to stifle a smile when she saw the kitchen girl practically shoving several of her fellow serving girls into a wagon as though she were their mother and not a good few years younger than most of them.

_There. _Once Fulcinia had seen him it seemed difficult to believe that he hadn't been the first thing she had focused on, for so big was the knight that he seemed to make even the most imposing of the villa's soldiers seem small. His broad shoulders were dusted with snow, and he bent over his small charge as protective and stalwart as one of the monoliths in Rome. In his arms, the boy from the dungeons nestled seemingly peacefully, his hair, although dirty, golden in the clear pale light. The knight looked up, met her eyes for a brief moment - blue, appraising, guarded, before he turned his attention back to the boy in his arms. Fulcinia let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding, and swallowed hard. _Fear, it was fear, _she told herself nervously. _After all wasn't there ten dozen reasons why her heart should be hammering in her chest? _Automatically she searched for Alecto and felt her muscles relax slightly when she saw him talking to Arthur Castus. Of all the souls that resided here in the villa she had no doubt that his was the most valuable to Rome, and as such the one that would be most carefully protected. The knowledge was a strange sort of comfort.

"Lucan?" Guinevere shifted to her elbows shakily, and maternal instinct overriding any propriety, Fulcinia, looped her arm around the Woad's waist and helped her into a sitting position. The girl shook fragile as a wounded bird in her arms, but her voice was steady when she caught sight of the boy who had shared her prison. "Please, can I see him?"

Fulcinia hesitated. It would probably be best if the two prisoners were together - she wouldn't put it past Marius to have one of his soldiers kill them both before they headed for the coast. The boy's origins were ambiguous enough that he could have come from any family, be they Saxon, Pict or even Roman, and that would likely be enough to ensure goodwill toward him, but the knights wouldn't be happy about taking a Woad with them. Looking down at the young woman resting against her wearily, Fulcinia felt a surge of protectiveness towards her. Guinevere had survived her husbands torture, his cruel attempts at breaking her spirit - she would not allow her to die now. Even if being Marius's wife was more of a curse than a blessing, it still held some power, and for once she would try and use it for protection rather than intimidation.

"Can you walk?" she asked softly.

Guinevere nodded and carefully rolled onto her knees. Grasping Fulcinia's elbow she got to her feet and walked shakily over to the big knight and the boy. She leant heavily on Fulcinia, but the Roman woman barely noticed. A month of being half starved had left the woman not much more than bone and sinew, and she stepped carefully, without any of the grace she had been blessed with in happier times.

Fulcinia hesitated for a moment before addressing the Sarmatian who sat cradling the boy in his lap. _How was she supposed to address him? _Roman etiquette she had been taught almost from the cradle, but this big rough man who obviously hadn't bathed in several days and who looked as though he could crush her throat without trying, was something else altogether.

"Sir.." she started, before realising that that was probably the wrong thing to say - he was a soldier after all, so she should address him as such. "Soldier, I …"

He raised an eloquent eyebrow and Fulcinia found herself at a loss for words once again. She was saved from having to try a third attempt by Guinevere.

"Lucan?" The Woad eased herself to her knees and held out her arms to the boy in the knight's lap. He scrambled over eagerly and the two met in an awkward embrace. With a pang of nausea and shame, Fulcinia noted the clean bandages that bound a splint to the boy's obviously broken arm, and the way that Guinevere's dared not touch her damaged hand to embrace the child properly.

Conscious of the knight's eyes upon her, Fulcinia concentrated hard on a tuft of grass half flattened by her skirt. In a moment she would take both the boy and Guinevere and put them on one of the wagons - she had a personal guard who could probably be trusted, and her maid would warn her if anyone threatened the pair while she gathered a few things from her quarters. Or at least she hoped she would.

"Lucan said that you kept him and the woman alive."

It took a moment for Fulcinia to realise who had spoken and what had been said. Looking up, she met the cool blue gaze of the knight. The quiet rumbling voice was not at all what she had expected from such a formidable man, nor the concern that was unmistakable in the inflection of his words.

She gave a brief smile that had nothing to do with humour.

"I gave them a few scraps of bread after my husband locked them in a dungeon and tortured them." Fulcinia said quietly. "That is all."

"It was enough." He spoke as though the conversation were finished and glanced over at his commander, eyes tracking the comings and goings of the knights before resting a hand on Lucan's shoulder. The boy shuffled backwards so that he rested against his side, and Fulcinia found herself completely at a loss as to what to do next. Glancing at Guinevere, she gave a half smile to the Woad. Her eyes were bloodshot, and even wrapped in the cloak she looked cold and frail. Both she and Lucan needed food, water, and since there was little time left, Fulcinia needed take all she could from the little apothecary in the old healer's rooms.

"Will you look after them until I get back?" The words were blurted out almost as soon as she had thought them.

The knight looked slightly surprised, but Fulcinia continued before he could say anything.

"The boy _and _the girl. Will you guard them until I return?"

The commanding tone that she used obviously rankled - there was a flash of annoyance that was unmistakable in his otherwise unreadable eyes- but whether that was due to the fact that she was a Roman or a woman, Fulcinia wasn't sure. Whatever objection he had it was either short lived or carefully controlled.

"As you wish lady." He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword as though swearing upon something sacred. "I will guard them with my life."

Fulcinia nodded, still a little uneasy, but strangely comforted by his words. Turning, she took a half dozen steps before pausing and looking back.

"What do I call you?" She asked. "Sir? Sir Knight? Castus'…"

"Dagonet," he interrupted, quietly but firmly. "My name is Dagonet."

_Dagonet. It suited him. _"My name is Fulcinia," she said and whirled around, hurrying towards the villa before she could regret both her audacity and complete lack of decorum.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took ages - grr, stupid life making me actually work for a living. Bit boring this chapter - sorry. I really don't like following too close to the movie script or using its dialogue but I couldn't see any way around it for the beginning of this story without making it majorly AU. From now on aside from maybe a couple of key scenes it'll be my own work (and will get a bit AU). Thanks very much for the reviews and alerts lovely readers- very much appreciated **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"_Will you look after them until I get back?"_

Dagonet rolled the Roman woman's words around his mind and looked at them from all possible angles. High born Romans did not tend to spare much thought for their serfs, let alone their prisoners, yet there had been true concern in her voice when Fulcinia had asked him to look after the woman and the boy. Obviously her compassion was not shared by her husband however… Feeling a surge of anger at the memory of the pompous Roman striking his wife as punishment for her kindness, Dagonet gave a faint smile. If he had struck Marius rather than Arthur there would have been a good chance the Roman wouldn't have gotten up again.

Beside him the boy whose name was Lucan from what the Woad had said was curled up exhausted, his head on the woman's lap, as though he were oblivious to the danger that lay all around him. The woman herself looked frail and exhausted, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut even as she tried to watch Marius's soldiers. Had she been a villager or even a Roman, Dagonet would have made an attempt at comforting her, or at least reassured her that he would not let her come to harm. But she was neither of those things. The woman was a Woad, and he had killed as many of her kind as hers had killed his.

The jangle of metal as Gawain's horse snatched at its bit irritably caught his attention, but Dagonet did not look over at his brother in arms. He didn't need to look at the young knight to sense his puzzlement at his protection of what was surely an enemy, nor meet Tristan's eyes when the scout caught his hawk with a murmur of Samartian endearments he would never express toward his human brethren. Arthur was busy readying the villagers, for which he was grateful; his hands were cold, and he felt tired and uncomfortable trying to shift his big body on the frozen ground, but if his commander gave him an order then he was duty bound to follow it, even if that would mean leaving the two liberated prisoners. _And breaking his promise to the Roman woman._ The thought bothered him more than it should - after all he didn't owe her or her kind anything.

Glancing down, he watched as the boy shifted in his sleep, his uninjured arm pale and thin as a chicken bone sliding out of the rough blanket one of the villagers had given him. Dagonet freed his cloak from underneath him and tucked it carefully around the boy without really thinking about what he was doing. True, he had told the child not to fear him, but he was a little surprised at just how literally the boy had taken his words. Pain and exhaustion explained the lack of fight or defiance, but the trust that shone in his eyes was something else entirely. The boy had put his faith in a Samartian soldier who was better known for his savagery on the battlefield than anything else. The knowledge niggled something deep inside him, but Dagonet forced himself to remain watchful and emotionless. With an inward sigh, he watched Lancelot walk over to him. The younger knight broke the piece of bread he was holding in half and handed it to him, before flicking his eyes over his charges dismissively.

"Babysitting are we Dagonet?" he said archly. "Vanora will be pleased; you can mind the kids while she and I engage in more pleasurable activities."

Dagonet bit into the bread and chewed unhurriedly. He was used to Lancelot's quick tongue and ignored the attempt at riling him.

"As I remember the one and only time you tried to get into Vanora's skirts she kicked you so hard in the bollocks Galahad still has a bet running as to whether or not you'll ever father any children," he said calmly. "Is there any more food going?" he nodded towards the two prisoners. Lancelot's eyes narrowed when he took in the woman's appearance, but chivalry won out over his aversion to her tribe, and he pulled a chunk off his own portion of bread and dropped it into her lap. The woman made no move to take it, instead continuing to watch him with bleary, half focussed eyes.

"Fine, starve then," Lancelot said resignedly, "makes no difference to me." Turning his attention back to his friend, he nodded at the small procession of horses and wagons that were making their way towards the gate. "Arthur wants these two in the wagon at the back. You're to stay with them and grab anyone who falls behind. Since we're all probably going to get slaughtered by the Saxons it wouldn't do to have anyone missing out on the fun."

Dagonet gave a faint smile and nodded, much to Lancelot's irritation.

"Gods Dag, would it kill you to look a bit worried? I don't know about you, but I'd got my hopes up for dying a free man, not cut down defending a pompous Roman whose head is even bigger than his arse."

The older knight smiled and glanced over to the village where the youngest of their brothers was obviously involved in a heated debate with an impassive Tristan. "If you want a shouting match then I suggest you go and talk to Galahad."

Lancelot gave a mock shudder. "No thank you, I'll leave it to Gawain to talk some sense into him or Tristan to punch him; whichever comes first."

"Probably for the best," Dagonet agreed, watching as Lancelot gave a vague gesture of farewell before walking back to his commander. One of the villagers was leading a large covered wagon towards them, and this must be the transport for he and the prisoners he assumed. It was fairly large, for which he was grateful - his height meant that on the few times he'd been forced to travel in such a style due to injury, he had been uncomfortably cramped. Getting to his feet, he nodded at the man who led the carthorse that pulled it.

"I'm Brynn, Sir." The man was perhaps in his early thirties with a broad honest face. Although obviously a little intimidated by the situation and the knight before him, there was a forthrightness to his tone that made Dagonet immediately warm to him. "Been told that you and the…" he frowned at the prisoners, "them two, are travelling with me and Blossom." At Dagonet's frown he patted the brown neck of the horse. "The wife named her, " he said with more than a little embarrassment.

Shrugging, the knight bent down and picked up Lucan. It didn't matter what the horse was called so long as it got them back to the wall as quickly as possible. The boy didn't stir in his arms, and it only took Dagonet a moment to haul himself into the back of the wagon and settle him onto a pile of blankets. Brushing a hand over Lucan's forehead, he grimaced as he felt the head radiating from the sweaty skin. The boy was running a fever - not surprising given all that had happened to him, but potentially lethal given that he had access to very few medical supplies and most of the plants he could have utilised were out of season. _Perhaps the Roman woman had something he could use, _he thought. _Fulcinia of the black hair and red cloak._ The thought startled him a little in the vividness of its imagery; Fulcinia was attractive; any man could see that, but above all things she was Roman, and as such practically another species. A little unsettled, he vowed to ask her about any medicine she might have anyway. She'd helped the prisoners before, and that being so, she might be prevailed upon to do so again. Swinging down from where he had been crouched, Dagonet eyed the Woad woman thoughtfully. She swayed with exhaustion, her legs and arms tucked tight against her body as though to make herself a smaller target. Getting her into the wagon under her own power seemed pretty unlikely, and not particularly wanting to talk to a Woad who, for all he knew had been the cause of one of the many empty spaces around Arthur's round table, he simply walked over to her and picked her up without a word. Aside from a muffled yelp she neither spoke nor struggled, and Dagonet had her settled inside the wagon in a matter of moments.

"Stay here," he ordered, getting out of the wagon. The boy was unconscious and the girl merely looked at him with dark unreadable eyes, but since there was nowhere else for her to go, he was satisfied that she wouldn't go anywhere while he went and found his horse.

Sidon wasn't hard to find; the big black was stood resting a hind leg and lipping at the tunic of the small boy who held his reins in hopes of finding something edible in the pockets. Taking his mount from the boy, Dagonet tried not to smile as the lad's eyes widened until they looked as though they might pop from their sockets. Leading his mount back to the wagon, he hitched the reins to the back, Sidon acquiescing with his usual laid back acceptance. Scratching the horse briefly behind his ears, the knight's attention was caught by a flash of red. Fulcinia was exchanging words with Alecto; as Dagonet watched she kissed her son briefly on the cheek before hurrying towards him, a large bundle clasped to her chest.

"Sir.." She stopped herself and ducked her head shyly. "Dagonet. This is most of the medical supplies from Marius's private store." Hefting her burden onto the wagon bed, she untucked the blanket that was wrapped around her purloined treasure. Working swiftly, she pushed several small stoppered jars against the side and tucked the blanket around them to give them some protection, before unpacking several bowls and a couple of water skins.

"Do you have anything for fever?" Dagonet watched her work, but was unable to read the words scrawled on the side of the jars. "Lucan burns."

Fulcinia looked at him worriedly, before scrambling into the wagon. As she did so her dress runched up slightly, giving Dagonet a brief glimpse of a dainty ankle and slender calf. The sudden jolt of desire that made his breeches suddenly a little too tight, was as unexpected as it was inappropriate, and the knight squashed the feeling down swiftly. _Gods, how long was it since he'd had a woman? _he wondered. _Obviously too long if he was looking at a Roman noblewoman as being anything other than an obligation. As soon as he had his papers he'd find one of the sweeter natured tavern girls and celebrate his freedom properly,_ he vowed.

"Dagonet?" Fulcinia's voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see her holding out a bowl. "Would you hold this for me?"

Her voice was very polite; she could have been talking to a Roman of her own rank, and almost amused the knight took the bowl in one of his big hands, and watched as Fulcinia added several pinches of a brownish powder.

"Willowbark," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "It's good for fever." Stirring the concoction with her finger, she took the bowl back from him. "Of course it would be better if the patient were to be kept quiet and still, but…" she gave a rueful shrug, careful not to spill any of the medicine.

Dagonet gave a half smile of understanding and watched as the Roman woman carefully raised Lucan up so that he was propped on her knees, and dribbled a little of the liquid into his mouth. The boy spluttered a little but swallowed most of it, and the next mouthful went down easier than the first. Behind them, Dagonet made out the shape of the woad woman. She was curled up under a blanket either unconscious or asleep. _Better to leave her until they all got moving, _he decided. She obviously needed the attention of a healer, but for now she could wait. Turning away, he watched as Arthur mounted his horse and shouted an order to the soldiers who headed the line of horses, wagons and huddled serfs. The huge gate to the villa opened for the last time and the procession started its exodus. Bors gave him a wave, and he held up a hand in acknowledgement. It was time to leave this little piece of Rome to the Saxons.

"Brynn?" he called to the wagon driver. The man nodded, making a last minute adjustment to his horse's bridle.

"We're ready. We keep to the back, that right?"

Dagonet nodded and climbed back into the wagon. Fulcinia had set aside the willow bark tea and sat on her knees, Lucan's head resting on her lap. Wiping a damp cloth over the feverish boy's forehead she could almost have been mistaken for his mother were their colouring not so different. It looked as though she planned on travelling with them, and while Dagonet did not feel any of the irritation he would have thought he would at the prospect of being in such prolonged proximity to a Roman, he was a little surprised at her choice.

"Your husband's carriage is leaving." Fulcinia glanced outside and bit her lip. Shifting slightly she sqeezed the water out of the rag in her hand and didn't quite look at him.

"I am needed here," she said eventually. The words were precise and carefully spoken, but nonetheless their real meaning was clear; _I don't want to go with _him_._

Dagonet didn't push her for a further explanation. In truth he was glad that she wasn't going to travel with her husband. His carriage, although padded and plush was covered, and given Marius's temper he suspected that the woman opposite him would emerge at the end of their journey with far more bruises than she might accrue from being bounced around in the rough wagon.

"Your help is welcomed," he said quietly, and this time she _did _look at him. A short glance, dark eyes searching swiftly as though to measure the true sentiments behind his words. She dropped her gaze before he had time to get more than a glimpse beyond the carefully expressionless façade of a well born Roman, but it was enough.

When he was only half a year into his bondage to Rome he had been sent out to hunt. He had shot and killed a couple of rabbits before being distracted by a rustling in the bushes. Those were younger days when inexperience had made him reckless and curiosity had overcome caution, and following the sound he had found a young doe caught in a snare. Her neck had been soaked with blood where she had rubbed it raw against the rope, the ground churned into mud where her hooves had flailed in attempt to get free. But it was her eyes that had stayed with him. Wide, dark and filled with a despair that had made him swallow hard and kill her quickly. He had never thought to see that hopeless resignation again, least of all in the eyes of a well born Roman woman, but for a brief moment before Fulcinia looked away, the memory was so strong that he could almost feel the sunlight on his face and smell the thick tang of blood and leaf litter.

She bent over Lucan and damped her cloth before wiping his brow, her hair swinging forward and shielding her face. When the wagon lurched into motion, with barely a warning from Brynn as he urged his horse forward, she swayed and would have banged her head on the side runners had Dagonet not reached out and grabbed her arm. She froze at his touch; muscles tense as steel beneath his fingers and he let her go quickly. She turned back to her task without looking his way, but he caught the soft "thank you," so quiet that it was barely a whisper. Leaning back against the side of the wagon, the knight watched as the villa became smaller and smaller, the hoof prints of their strange procession swallowed by snow, until only the faint echo of far away drums was proof that there was anyone else out there in the frozen wilderness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**Good grief I started writing this in 2009 and pretty much forgot about it. Sorry readers, sorry Dagonet and Fulcinia. Definitely time to finish this. As I've said before I won't be totally true to the film.**

Fulcinia wrung out the cloth that she had been soaking and wondered whether to discard the waterskin she had been using. The boy's (_Lucan, she mentally corrected)_ fever showed no sign of lessening and having exhausted what little she knew of medicine she felt completely lost. His arm had been set as well as it could be, his small body cleaned and wrapped up snugly with blankets grabbed from her home, but the fact remained that he was still being bumped around by the motion of the cart, without his mother and tended by someone who wasn't entirely sure what she was doing.

_Except that wasn't quite true was it? She wasn't alone. _From underneath lowered lashes Fulcinia watched the big knight who shared the cramped space with her. He had barely spoken a dozen words and she wasn't quite sure whether that was a good thing or cause for worry. True he had tended the boy that he and Arthurs's men had liberated with a careful tenderness and made no threatening gestures towards her, but still...

As though he heard her thoughts Dagonet glanced up from the pestle and mortar he had been grinding, and Fulcinia hurriedly looked away. She didn't know what to say to the huge man, and given what she knew of the Samartian knights she could only guess at contempt he must hold her in. _Arthur's knights... _Alecto had heard of them from some of the soldiers that had come to their villa from Rome and talked of them with excitement and not a little awe. It was a little strange to think that Arthur himself had almost been a prospective husband so many years ago, although they had never actually met. Once Pelagius fell out of favour so did his supporters and her family had promptly re-thought their plans for her. But it didn't hurt to dream did it? She remembered Arthur knocking her husband down and was tempted to imagine how different things might have been if her uncle had lived. Instead she focused on the boy curled up against her.

Lucan whimpered, his hot cheek turning to rest upon her knee, and she brushed the dirty blond curls from his forehead. She had done all that she could think of to bring down his fever but his skin was still far too hot. Almost without thinking about it she hummed a lullaby her mother had sung to her and was relieved when the boy seemed to settle. Other songs escaped her so she repeated the simple melody well aware that both the big knight and the Woad woman were listening to her too. It was slightly disconcerting, but given the circumstances Fulcinia found it hard to care. When Lucan's eyes finally closed she eased his head down onto the blankets. He fell asleep quickly; too weak to struggle, too tired to protest.

Dagonet looked at her curiously, taking the boy from her without a word, but Fulcinia didn't dare try and start up a conversation – indeed she struggled to think of anything they could talk about. Dagonet seemed fond of the boy which was odd, but had barely looked at the young Woad woman who shared the carriage. _It made sense, _she supposed. _Being trapped in a wagon with a Woad and a Roman he must be having difficulty deciding who to hate most. _

Scrambling inelegantly to the back of the wagon she gave the woman huddled in the half darkness as reassuring a smile as she could. Guinevere watched her warily, but when Fulcinia tucked the blanket that had slid off her knees back in place she didn't flinch. Passing over the waterskin she helped the Woad drink, being careful not too jostle her wounded hands. _Something would have to be done about her fingers, _Fulcinia thought, inwardly wincing at the horribly crooked digits only half concealed by the grubby bandage wrapped around them, but she dared not try and straighten them while they were both being bumped around in the carriage for fear of making things worse. After drinking her fill Guinevere settled down and closed her eyes, cuddling into the Roman woman more by instinct than any aware desire of seeking comfort. Stroking the long, matted hair that cascaded onto her lap, Fulcinia tried to calm herself down.

_Marius would be expecting her. He'd been humiliated and beaten both physically and emotionally by Commander Castus, and since he had no hope of besting the man in combat he would be looking for something or someone to take his anger out on. Alecto was mounted on his horse and talking to Arthur, but there were some of the maids with them who might bear the brunt of his rage if she __didn't go to the plush, comfortable carriage and the bully that resided within it. What to do? Was it better to be hit or see the bruises fade on the faces of those that were convenient substitutes_?

_And still there was the echo of drums._ Not close enough to be an immediate threat but close enough to be threatening. Tucking her legs under her, Fulcinia tried to relax and let her body go with the rhythm of the wagon. Alecto was a very good horseman, if they were attacked he could get away. The thought became a quiet mantra at the back of her mind. Arrows, swords nor knives could harm him if she willed it so...

Tucking her cloak around her, Fulcinia tentatively peeked out through the heavy material that provided a certain amount of shelter against the elements. Arthur was talking to the young man with the attractive face and accusing eyes, the big bald man who rode beside the cart meeting her gaze and looking away with disinterest. She did not want to think about what they must think about her or her husband. With a rush of relief she saw Cate and Branwyn perched on one of the more rickety carts that had belonged to the Villa. The two kitchen servants were handing out blankets to the rest of the women huddled in the shallow wagon, and making a quick head count Fulcinia relaxed slightly as she realised that all the female staff were accounted for. It looked like Marius would be travelling alone after all.

" Are you alright?" It took a moment for Fulcinia to realise that Dagonet had spoken to her, and in her haste she managed to smack her head against the side of the wagon. Stars leapt bright and dizzying before her her eyes, and she would have collapsed onto Guinevere if a big hand hadn't caught her shoulders and tucked her against a broad chest."I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."The words were kind, his touch gentle. For a wild moment Fulcinia was tempted to hold onto the studded hauberk that was uncomfortable against her cheek.

Pushing herself away from him, she managed to fake a decent enough facsimile of a smile. "It was my fault." Carefully lowering Guinevere's head onto the blankets, she shuffled backwards slightly and faced him. _Oh dear. _His eyes weren't blue as she had first thought, Fulcinia realised when she found the courage to actually look at him properly. They were the dark grey of thunderclouds. Unreadable and uncomfortably direct. With the scar that bisected one side of his face and his sheer size he should have been terrifying, and yet...

There was a kindness, a worry for her in those grey eyes that threw her in a way that hatred or contempt could not. She froze when he lifted one hand to her throat, big calloused fingers tracing the contours of her jawline. He could strangle her without any trouble, God help her he could probably break her neck without trying. Screaming would be a good idea, a part of her urged, but instead she held still, both of them moving unconsciously with rocking of the carriage. He leant forward, so close that she could smell the wet leather of his hauberk. Tipping her chin up, Fulcinia obliged without thinking about it, a mixture of fear and some unknown emotion sending her heart slamming against her ribs.

"There's nothing broken that I can see," Dagonet said eventually, releasing her. "I have some arnica paste that will help with the bruising."

Fulcinia blinked, trying to settle herself down. Her skin still felt warm where he had touched her, and it took a moment to realise what he was talking about. "Thankyou for your concern," she said with as much politeness as she could muster. "I barely knocked my head - indeed I expect I did more damage to the wagon than it did to me!" The attempt at levity obviously failed as the big man's eyes narrowed.

"I was talking about your husband hitting you. Tell me, is this a Roman tradition or is your husband merely a coward?"

"He..." Fulcinia's mind raced. Shock, shame and outrage warring in her mind. Outrage won out. " I would ask you to take heed of you you are talking to Samartian," she said tightly. "It is my people whom you serve. I could have you flogged for such disrespect."

Whatever warmth she had seen in his eyes cooled as quickly as her temper, and Fulcinia almost shivered at the disdainful look that Dagonet gave her. Moving back towards the boy with a grace that seemed incongruous given his size, he did not look back, but she heard his words clearly enough.

"Do as you wish, Lady. It would not be my first flogging, and as you can see I survived the last three well enough."

Glancing out of the back of the wagon, Fulcinia caught a glimpse of her husbands carriage and wished that she had chosen to travel with him instead. Marius would most likely have beaten her black and blue throughout the journey, after he had satisfied his baser cravings with her body, but at least she knew what to expect from him. There was a certain pride in wiping the blood off her body or watching the bruises fade from her skin in knowing that even though she had no escape she still had her pride. She was bowed but unbroken. In a few words this big, quiet Knight had managed to not only managed to make her speak like the worst of the Romans that she held in contempt but feel thoroughly ashamed of herself as well.

Glancing over at him, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or uncomfortable that all she could see of Dagonet was his broad back bent over Lucan. Flicking through a dozen attempts at an apology in her mind, all of which seemed patronising or false, she turned her attention to Guinevere. The Woad woman was still asleep, but since she was being jolted around by the carriage peace wasn't coming easily. With a sigh, Fulcina undid her cloak, shoved it behind her and lifted Guinevere's head so that it rested against her side. Every rut beneath the wheels beneath them shuddered though her spine, but the young woman beside her slept peacefully, and that, she thought was how it should be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

_Why had he ever thought Fulcinia to be anything other than a typical Roman? _Dagonet cursed himself for a fool and forced himself to be careful as he wiped Lucan's forehead with a damp cloth. _Marius might be a complete bastard, but perhaps he and his wife were better matched than he had first thought. She certainly hadn't hesitated when it came to threatening him with a flogging._ Memories locked tight in the back of his mind pushed against the boxes he had locked them in, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. Scars faded, the lessons learned from them should not.

The echo of drums was now as much a part of his surroundings as the steady rhythm of the cart horse's hooves in the light snow. It would take an act of the Gods for them to outrun the Saxons, and an act of Arthur's God for Castus to abandon the people he had rescued in order to save himself. Glancing out the front of the wagon he watched his commander conferring with Tristan and felt almost resentful. If Arthur had had the good grace to act like the rest of the Romans he'd encountered then things would be so much simpler. He remembered how easy it had been when he was not much more than a boy dragged from his homeland and forced to fight. The first two Romans he had served under had been weak, stupid men who had bought their titles and treated their Samartian slaves with utter contempt. Dagonet had let each blow, each thoughtless cruelty feed the fire inside of him and help it forge a stronger, more brutal warrior. True, he had not always liked what he had become, but at least his allegiances had been clear. Us and Them. Stay alive and protect his brothers in arms until the time came that the bastards who had chained them to Rome like so many disposable hunting dogs set them free.

_Bloody Arthur, _Dagonet thought with uncharacteristic irritation. Talking to his knights as though they were his equals, fighting for them both in the battlefield and in the cool stone rooms at the fort where soldier's lives were traded with no more than a scratch of a signature on a piece of parchment. He'd believed in them from the start, earned their loyalty, and, although it was strange to acknowledge, their love. _But that was Arthur,_ he reminded himself, _and Arthur wasn't a typical man, let alone a typical Roman. Fulcinia saw him as a slave, for in Rome's eyes that was what he was. He had been foolish to think that a pretty face and sad eyes made her anything than an obligation. And yet.. _He glanced back. The Woad woman slept seemingly peacefully, her head resting in the Roman woman's lap. Fulcinia's hair covered her face, swinging slightly with the movement of the wagon, a silky black curtain obscuring any emotion. It couldn't have been comfortable for her wedged against the slatted sides like that, but either she was asleep or ignoring him, and despite whatever discomfort she might be in Dagonet resisted the urge to pass her an extra blanket. She'd probably take it as an attempt by him to make sure she didn't make a complaint against his words earlier, and he'd be damned if it seemed as though he was trying to buy favour by being kind.

The cart slowed, The big bay cart horse sliding slightly in the snow before coming to a jerky stop. Carefully tucking Lucan into the blankets so that he would not be jostled if they had to move quickly, Dagonet jumped down onto the snowy path. The wind was icy, and he narrowed his eyes against the light snow that drifted down, covering his tracks and turning the surrounding forest into a featureless contrast of grey and white.

"Looks like we're stopping here for the night." Gawain nudged his grey up towards him, the gelding almost hitting Dagonet as it fought to turn its hindquarters against the wind. "The Saxons have made camp according to Tris, and we can't go on in the dark with this lot," he glanced back towards the refugees, unsettling a clump of snow that had settled on his long hair.

Dagonet nodded, scanning their surroundings. The terrain was flatter than it had been throughout most of the journey with enough room to tether the horses and pitch a couple of tents. While not ideal, it was probably the best that they could find before the sun totally set. Seeing Lancelot talking to the young man driving Marius's carriage and directing him down to a fairly large clearing, he bid the blond knight farewell and helped Brynn coax Blossom down the faint incline without jolting the patients in the cart she pulled as much as could be helped.

"Dagonet." The big knight nodded at his commander's summons, quickly helping Brynn release the stocky pony from the shafts of the wagon. Leaving the villager to untack and feed the mare, Dagonet turned his attention to Arthur.

"How are they?" Arthur nodded towards the wagon. "Are the prisoners alive?"

"Yes." He hesitated for a moment. "The boy burns, but he's brave."

"And the woman?" There was a flash of something almost too quick to read in Arthur's eyes and Dagonet fought down weary amusement. _Ever fighting for the under-dog aren't you commander. _"Her fingers are broken. I haven't set them yet."

"I'll see to her. Will you help set up Marius's tent – I don't trust any of the others not to take his head off before nightfall; Bors has already knocked out one of the guards." The intensity of Arthur's green eyes as he met his made it less of a request than a declaration that he was entrusting the Roman to him and would be greatly disappointed if anything happened to Marius under his watch. The quiet confidence was a far better incentive than any threat or bribe, and inwardly the big knight sighed. Whatever his less than charitable thoughts regarding Marius were he was now stuck unofficially guarding the bloody Roman arse until he was settled. He kept his face blank and nodded. "The woad girl?"

Arthur looked over to the carriage and seemed indecisive for a moment. "I'll see to her, if I need any help then I'll send for you." With a nod he dismissed Dagonet and strode over to Brynn who was attaching a nose-bag to Blossom's head collar. Dagonet watched him go feeling vaguely uneasy. His commander was well known for being a champion to the down-trodden and unforgiving of cruelty especially against women, but the fact remained that the woman was a woad. Just because she didn't look as though she could pick up a weapon let alone wield one at the moment didn't mean that she might not be dangerous later on when she was healed. With a sigh, he went over to Marius's carriage and took the mallet Bors offered him, glad that for once his friend wasn't in the mood for conversation. Perhaps banging a few tent posts into the cold ground might serve to release a little of his frustration.

* * *

The bump of the wagon as it carefully descended the slight incline into the woods woke Fulcinia from her half doze, and blinking blearily, it took her a moment to catch her bearings. The motion stopped abruptly, and feeling a sudden wave of panic – were they being attacked? Was something wrong? Fulcinia listened hard to what was happening beyond the canopy that shielded them from the outside, relieved when she heard no screams or the clash of swords against swords. Guinevere was still asleep beside her, showing no sign of waking, and so carefully the Roman woman extricated herself and crawled forward so that she could peek out the front. Dagonet was gone – the surge of relief and disappointment making her let out a breath she hadn't known that she had been holding, but Lucan was still there, tucked up in his blankets. Putting a gentle hand to his forehead she was relieved to find it cooler than it had been earlier. The willowbark seemed to be working, and the boy had succumbed to sleep rather than unconsciousness. Working quickly she found a water skin to make up another batch of the cold tea, grateful that she had remembered to bring her herbs, and thankful for the Celtic maid whom she had employed when first married. Without Ailidh she was sure that she would have lost Alecto when she had started bleeding early into her pregnancy, and although the woman had told her truthfully that she would never bear another child, she had been happy to share her knowledge of herbs and healing with her. When the old woman had died Fulcinia had mourned her as though she had been a mother.

Lost in thought, she jumped when Arthur Castus climbed into the wagon beside her. Big as he was he blocked out the light for a moment, and she almost flinched backwards. Obviously realising that he was intimidating her, he moved to the side, crouching down so that he was more on her level.

"How is the boy?" He asked softly.

"I believe he will recover, Sir," she said with automatic politeness. There was genuine tenderness when Castus reached out and smoothed an errant curl from Lucan's head that made her stomach twist. When he looked up and asked her how she was faring, it took all of her training as a Roman noblewoman to keep up the dignified façade. "I thank you for your concern, Sir," she said with a decent approximation of a smile. "I thank you for all that you and your men have done for us." _I threatened to flog one of your men because he showed concern for me – why are you being kind? _She wanted to scream at him, but instead she lowered her eyes to the boy beside her.

Arthur nodded, touched her on the shoulder, and moved back to the back of the wagon. Watching the big man, his sword shining in the last dying rays of the sun move towards the injured woad, Fulcinia felt panic seize her.

"Sir! No!" Her voice came out shrill and unrecognisable even to herself. "She's just a girl, she can't hurt you. Please.."

The commander's initial look of surprise quickly turned to curiosity, and he sat down on his heels, watching her carefully. Fulcinia inwardly squirmed under his scrutiny, but she had made a promise both to Guinevere and herself that she would help the younger woman. Raising her chin with as much defiance as she could, she spoke softly but firmly. "The woman is under my protection."

After what seemed like an age, Arthur gave her a faint smile. "You kept her and the boy alive."

"And watched a dozen others die. God will judge me when it is my time." The words came out faster that she could stop them.

The big Roman sighed, running a weary hand through his dark curls. "You and your husband are ill-matched, lady," he said wryly.

"My parents did not seem to think so." Sensing no censure in his words, Fulcinia allowed herself a small smile. "We all do our duty to Rome do we not?"

"I suppose that we do." Reaching forward, he took one of her hands in his. "I give you my word that I will allow no harm to come to either the woman nor the boy."

Fulcinia squeezed his fingers quickly before pulling away. "Thank-you." Making sure that Lucan was comfortable she slid down from the wagon, wincing as her soft deerskin boots quickly absorbed the slushy snow. Cautiously walking around Blossom's rump, she rubbed her hands under the big bay's long mane to warm up her fingers and looked around. The mare nudged her side in a friendly manner before concentrating on her nosebag, and feeling a little giddy, Fulcinia let herself rest against the horse's warm shoulder. _Oh what madness was this? How could the world turn upside down so quickly? Had she really just almost threatened the famous Arthur Castus to save a pagan girl? _She put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling like a maid of half her age. _Marius would beat her black and blue if he ever found out. But then Arthur had looked at her with respect, something he certainly hadn't shown towards her husband, and that in itself would make any bruises worth it. _

Looking around she could not suppress a smile at seeing Cate and Branwyn bossing around several soldiers twice their size in an attempt to make camp. The two kitchen girls were skinny and dishevelled, but when they put their hands on their hips and glared at the men who weren't working fast enough the soldiers baulked and did as they were ordered. "These are the Lady Fucinia's orders" Cate said imperiously, her voice carrying clearly. "If the tents aren't up by nightfall then she'll have you sent abroad and tossed into the Roman Colosseum to be eaten by lions." Apparently Cate had interpreted her request to ask the soldiers to help settle the servants and villagers with a little more enthusiasm than she had anticipated.

"Mother!" A familiar, welcome voice, startled her from her musings, and almost before she had time to turn around she felt herself enveloped in the damp, enthusiastic embrace of her son. His brown eyes shone brightly, only partially obscured by snow clumped curls, and with a smile Fulcinia brushed the snowflakes away and tidied his hair back behind his ears. Alecto grumbled good naturedly, but she hushed him with a kiss on the cheek.

_Are you alright? I worry about you. Do you know how dangerous it is here? I love you. _All sentiments that however true would send him scuttling off back to the knights in an attempt not be seen as a child. She settled for "So what do you think of the Samartian knights? Do they live up to the stories you've been told?"

His smile was bright and Fulcinia let him prattle about how the scout had an actual hawk that he could talk to, and how Lancelot had two swords and had made love, well maybe, to Vanora, Bors's woman, and how Bors had threatened to hang him up by the bollocks, and Galahad had told them both that they were all piss and wind and they had told him that since he was prettier than most of the tavern girls he should have stayed home lifting his skirt to the Romans. A bit bewildered, Fulcinia let most of the conversation wash over her and decided to ignore most of the information given. Tactfully suggesting that he probably shouldn't share any of that information with his father, she watched him bound back to the small camp fire where most of the knight were huddled.

Most of the knights but not all.

Dagonet was not with them. Looking around she finally spotted him next to Marius's carriage. _Their carriage, _she mentally corrected herself. The Honorius crest that marked it as Marius's property might as well have been branded on her own skin as well – _after all_, she thought bitterly, _he'd paid a kings ransom for both of them_ . The light was dimming, but she could vaguely see her husband speaking to his guards on the far side of the campfire. If she kept behind the flames she should be able to be concealed in the darkness for a little while if she was careful. Retracing her steps she paused. Arthur was still in the back of the wagon with Guinevere, and worried though she was for the young woman she understood that if she was to trust Arthur's word she could not interrupt. After quickly checking Lucan and grabbing a full waterskin, Fulcinia made her way determinedly through the snow.

She hesitated a dozen paces before she reached him, unsure of what to do. Marius's tent was up, a dark triangle of material that promised both protection from the elements and a camouflage for whatever went on within it. _All those silky pillows and cruel hands, _she thought feeling her stomach twist and her hands tremble on the neck of the water skin. Tearing her eyes away she watched as Dagonet split first one then two then three pieces of wood with his axe. He'd discarded his hauberk and was clad only in his tunic and breeches, the snow falling upon his body and mingling with the sweat. He moved steady and relentless, muscles bunching and relaxing, powerful and unforgiving as he shattered the wood beneath his blows. If he had noticed her then he showed no acknowledgement and feeling like a rabbit approaching a wolf, Fulcinia froze, any carefully worded apologies slipping through her mind as insubstantial as the melting snow beneath her feet.

"Sir?" She said eventually. The attempt at sounding polite sounded more terrified than anything, and she inwardly kicked herself.

"Is there something I can do for you Lady?" He straightened, rubbed a big forearm over his eyes and looked at her with a combination of wariness and controlled politeness.

"No. Yes." Fulcinia met his grey eyes for all of a moment before dropping them. _Don't be a coward, she told herself fiercely. If you can stand up to Commander Castus then you can face one of his knights. _Lifting her head she looked at him boldly. "It's more what I can do for you. I brought you this." She pulled the water skin from her cloak. "I thought you might be thirsty."

Dagonet looked at the proffered gift with as much bewilderment as if she had offered him a baby dragon from one of Alecto's childhood stories. Feeling her cheeks flush, Fulcinia took the top off the bottle and took a sip of the water. "It's alright, it's not poisoned or anything, see." Putting the stopper back on she winced. "Well only with Roman spit, and I don't think that it'll kill you.." _Except that Romans dragged you from your country to die for them so to Samartians really are poisonous to you... Oh God. Beautifully done, Fulcinia. You can host a dinner party for the highest ranking Romans in the country but offering water to a Samartian slave is beyond you? _Fulcinia held out the water skin as though hoping it might fly away and put an end to the conversation. The damp piece of leather decided not to oblige and so she stood staring at it, wishing that the Saxons would hurry up and put sword through her chest before she had to go back to the wagon and do it herself. When Dagonet took the skin from her and drank deeply it took a moment for her to remember to drop her arm.

"Thank you." His voice was deep, a rumble that made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Not daring to look up at him Fulcinia took a deep breath and concentrated on the little tuft of grass that poked through the snow by her left boot.

"I came to apologise," she said quietly. She felt more that heard when Dagonet took a step forward, close enough for her senses to prickle into life – _fight or flight_. She shoved the urge down. No more running. "I was wrong to say what I did before. I was angry..." Fulcinia hunted for the appropriate words and settled for the truth. "I was angry that you saw what I choose not to see. I would not have you or anyone else punished for my weakness."

There was silence for a long moment. In the distance a log snapped in the fire and distant laughter broke the silence, a ghostly thing seemingly swallowed by the falling snow. Fulcinia kept her eyes on the tuft of grass and wondered if the first snowdrops would bloom by the time either she got the courage to leave or the knight before her said anything. The touch of a rough yet gentle hand nudging her head up pulled her attention away, and she met Dagonet's eyes reluctantly.

"I do not think you weak," he said quietly. His thumb caressed her cheek, sliding down the curve of her jawline slowly and so gently that for some reason she had to fight back tears. He was so very strong, and for just a moment she let him pull her towards him, her forehead resting against the hard breadth of his chest. He smelt of sweat and wood smoke, the muscles beneath her fingers as solid and immovable as the walls of the fort that she had left behind. When he kissed the top of her head she jerked backwards at such tenderness and stumbling away thanked God for her restraint when she heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow coming towards them.

Taking several steps backwards she smiled at the approaching group and hoped that the flush upon her cheeks could be attributed to the cold air and not the man beside her. Marius's guards looked cold and hungry – they probably wouldn't have cared if they had found her with her skirts over her head servicing half Arthur Castus's knights, Fulcinia thought with no little relief, but her husband looked first at her and Dagonet with a thoughtful expression.

"The tent is up," Fulcinia said brightly, her heart thundering. With studied nonchalance she moved towards the opulent shelter. _Give him what he wants, distract him. _"Shall we find Alecto? It's so cold out here."

"Alecto has chosen to stay with the knights for tonight." Marius's words were smooth but he did not take his eyes from Fulcinia's and she dared not look away. When he walked over to her and placed a proprietorial hand over her shoulder he smiled at his guards. "Sometimes a husband and wife need to spend some time alone don't you think?" A couple of the guards gave a half hearted laugh as though they were players in a drama they didn't quite understand, taking the comment as a dismissal, which in a way it was. Trying not to wince when her husband grabbed her breast and pinched her nipple, his teeth grazing the side of her throat, Fulcinia tried to make herself relax and let him pull her back towards their tent. _Best not to struggle or make a scene._

"You look upset Samartian." Marius's voice was oily with false concern. "Did you really think you had a chance at a pure blooded beauty like my wife? Even my serving bitches are beneath you."

Opening her eyes, Fulcinia met Dagonet's and inwardly flinched at the sheer hatred that burned within what she had once were thought were cold grey eyes. _Please don't. _She could only mouth the words but when he made to speak she nodded as inconspicuously as she could without drawing her husbands attention. He nodded, his eyes unreadable, but then Marius threw her back into the tent, her head colliding with one of the tent posts and everything went black.

**A/N cheers to everyone who is reading this (goodness you deserve medals for being patient). Things will be getting a bit AU from the movie verse in the next few chapters.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**A quick warning; I'm playing fast and loose with some scenes from the film and the story is going to get a bit more AU from now on.**

**A great big warning for non consensual sex. If it upsets you then skip this chapter.**

"Leave it Dag." Bors left his place by the fire and surreptitiously made note of how many of their fellow knights were close enough to help him subdue his friend if Dagonet decided to do something very stupid. The pathetic excuse for guards that the pompous Roman had guarding him slunk off after their master when he glared at them, but he stepped infront of the big Samartian when it seemed he might follow. "Fulcinia is Marius's wife. How is you barging in their tent going to help her?" Grabbing his friend's arm he forced the taller man around with no little effort. "In a few days we're free. If you want to go after her then fine, I've got your back. The Gods know why you'd want to though. Vanora's girls are prettier than than her, and you wouldn't have half the Roman army on your head after you've had them."

Dagonet shrugged his friend's hand off his shoulder and rubbed a hand over his face. Bors was his brother in everything but blood and even he saw the truth of what he said, but still... Fulcina had tried to protect him, and he had no doubt that it would cost her. Watching Marius grab her arm and drag her away he felt the rage rising within him and reaching for his sword he tried not to imagine the price she would pay.

"Dag, no. She'll be the one that suffers. Let it go."

Meeting his brother in arms's eyes he tried to control his anger and let his sword slide back into its scabbard. Bors was right. Fulcinia was with her husband, and whatever he thought about the man there was no real reason to intervene. Nonetheless he felt slightly sick as he followed Bors to where his fellow knights waited and did not look back at Marius's tent.

* * *

Fulcinia closed her mind and thought of other things. The river where she had played as a child where the fish slipped silver and too fast to be caught through her fingers. The sheer weight of Rome's might where the colosseum was beautiful gilded in the morning sun and drenched in blood by night. She barely noticed when Marius rolled off her. This was an old game and at least left less bruises than when he was angry enough just to beat her. Bruises upset Alecto and took too long to heal. Reminders for days of her folly in trying to be the girl she had once been.

Marius fell asleep quickly afterwards, and sliding off the bed carefully, Fulcinia stood shaking, retrieving the nightgown that had been torn off her and awkwardly tying the sash around herself. There weren't any weapons in the tent but she could improvise... The little bottle of perfume bought more as an apology than a gift – that could be sharp if she smashed it and used it to slash her husband's throat. The box in the corner that contained twenty years of scrolls and knick-knacks would probably be heavy enough to crush his skull. Running her fingers over the polished wood, Fulcinia gave up the idea of trying to lift and throw it and sat on it instead, wrapping her arms around her knees. There was a breeze that ruffled the edge of the tent and her gown and she welcomed the coldness even as she shivered. She hurt all over and tomorrow she would have to explain the blood on the sheets once again to Cate who would say nothing but accept the lies with a quiet pity that made her want to weep. Marius snuffled in his sleep and she watched the rise and fall of his chest intently, as though by sheer force of will she could make it stop.

But then where would she be? Alecto would never forgive her, and they would both be stuck without Marius's reputation to protect them, alone in the middle of nowhere with Saxons at the back of them and Samartians who quite understandably hated Romans at their side. _Endure woman_, she told herself firmly, shrugging off her nightgown and dressing as quickly with one wrist throbbing as she could. _He's been worse than this before and you survived. _

The cold air momentarily drove the breath from her lungs as she slid out of the tent, but she gave the two guards a haughty look and they didn't question her when she swept by them, imperious as a queen and trying hard not to limp. For a moment she wasn't sure where to go. The firelight flickered warm and enticing through the trees but so did the voices of men; villagers and knights alike sharing stories and jokes. Fulcinia stepped back, exhausted and aching, and nearly knocked over one of her maids who was so intent on not spilling the contents of the bucket she was carrying that she had obviously concentrated more on the ground than anyone who might have been in her way.

"Careful." Grabbing the side of the bucket with her good hand she steadied it, careful not to let any more of the the water slosh over the side.

"I'm sorry." Branwyn tried to huff her red hair out of her eyes, curtsey and hold on to the bucket at the same time. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought that the Woad woman could do with a bath, and the boy could too, and there's a stream down there. I've set one up in the supply tent..."

"It's alright." _A bath, she should have thought of that before – She'd already washed Lucan, but Guinevere must be longing for one after being trapped in the dungeon for so long._ _For that matter she could do with one herself. _"That was clever of you to think of. If you fill the tub I'll sort out some clothing for her and bring her over."

Branwyn nodded and trotted off awkwardly, trying not to spill anymore of the water she had warmed over her campfire. It only took a moment for Fulcinia to slide back into her tent and find fresh dresses for herself and Guinevere. Marius had always been a heavy sleeper and she was well practised in being quick and quiet. For a moment she was tempted to give the Woad woman one of her more expensive and elaborate gowns simply to irritate him, but she settled for the green one that she had worn when she was younger and had kept for sentimental reasons. Grabbing a piece of soap, a comb and cloth to dry off with, she bundled it all up, tucked it under her arm and headed to Brynn's wagon.

Guinevere and Lucan, were both finishing off a piece of what looked like cooked rabbit, Dagonet beside them, his big body resting against the slats. He looked up quickly as she approached, the smile at seeing her quickly fading as he narrowed his eyes and really looked at her. _God help her, she must look a complete state, _Fulcinia thought with a pang of embarrassment and shame. Ignoring the soreness between her legs she kept her steps carefully even and gave him a polite smile without meeting his eyes. "I thought Guinevere might like a bath and a change of clothing." Looking at the young Woad she gave a genuine smile as the woman's eyes lit up. _Some things were universal truths, and one of them was a woman's desire for a bath after a long day._

"Yes please, that would be most welcome." It was as many words as she'd heard Guinevere say, and the first time she'd heard any enthusiasm from her. Holding out her hand, she helped her down. Lucan gave her a sticky fingered wave which she returned, but she did not look at the Samartian knight beside him, instead walking beside Guinevere, who seemed vastly improved after a decent meal and having her fingers re-set. Branwyn bless her everlasting soul had set up several lamps, and although the tub was tiny compared with the one that she had enjoyed at home, it was half filled with warm water. When Guinevere gave a little involuntary moan at seeing it, she smiled.

"Get in and make yourself comfortable. I don't think that these, " Fulcinia picked up the rags that the girl quickly wriggled out of, "are much good for anything but the fire." Handing her the piece of soap, she tossed the clothing in a corner. Used to bathing with other women back in Rome, and seeing that Guinevere didn't seem bothered about her nudity, she went about wetting her hair and carefully untangling it. For a moment the Woad stiffened as though she could see something outside, but Fulcinia could see nothing through the canvas and went back to the job in hand. Drying it off as best she could, she helped her put on the dress. It was a bit big, but it would suffice for the moment. Washed of the grime the girl was beautiful, or would be after a few decent meals, and Fulcinia was reminded of her longing for a daughter long ago when there might have been a possibility of such a blessing. "Stay away from my husband and his soldiers," she said fastening her old cloak around Guinevere's shoulders. The knight Dagonet has given a promise to guard you – you will be safe with him and the boy.

Guinevere looked at her with eyes that seemed suddenly ancient in her young face, and Fulcinia was surprised when she suddenly put her hand on her shoulder briefly.

"They don't always need walls to make their torture chambers do they?" Her voice was puzzled and full of sorrow. "Thankyou for your kindness." The girl was gone before she could reply, and with a sigh Fulcinia shrugged out of her own clothing and stepped into the tub.

She washed herself carefully. Her ribs were bruised but none seemed cracked, and although there were bruises on her arms and her wrist was swollen, there was nothing permanently damaged or unable to be hidden until her injuries healed. The water cooled too quickly, and reluctantly she dried and dressed herself. Pausing infront of the entrance to the tent she tried to decide where to go. Marius would most likely sleep until morning, but that meant sleeping next to him and the idea made her skin crawl. She would have liked to talk to Arthur of Rome and Pelagius but he was sat around the fire with his knights and she was loathe to approach him in her present state of mind. Finally she made up her mind. She and Guinevere had taken a fair amount of time bathing – no doubt Dagonet would have left Lucan sleeping and gone to join his brothers in arms. There was no impropriety in sleeping near the injured boy; he was after all her charge. Shivering and wrapping her cloak around her, she headed off to Brynn's wagon. A couple of guards nodded respectfully at her, but the wagon itself looked quiet. Hoisting herself up, she yelped as her foot slipped and she had to grab onto the side with her injured wrist. Breathing hard, she made her way undercover, holding her arm to her chest. Lucan was sleeping soundly, and she made her way over to him, only to be startled by a low voice behind her.

"What did you do to your arm?"

Fulcinia froze, turning her head she saw Dagonet's big form hidden in the shadows, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He'd been so quiet and still that she hadn't noticed him in her haste to get undercover. "Nothing." Her voice came out in a panicky wobble and she took a deep breath. "You startled me, how is Lucan?"

"His fever is down thanks to you." Moving out of the shadows, huge and imposing, Fulcinia shuffled back from him instinctively . He paused at her obvious wariness and spoke softly. "Let me help you lady."

* * *

_He'd seen Woads impaled on his sword less frightened than the woman infront of him, _Dagonet thought. Hunkering down, he tried to make himself look less threatening – a losing battle he knew for someone of his height and appearance. Her dark eyes were huge against her pale skin and she flinched back against the slats of the wagon. While the idea of a Roman cowering before him had always seemed at least an amusing prospect, seeing the woman terrified and obviously hurt back away from him made his stomach twist.

"I won't hurt you." He kept his voice low, the tone he used when his horse was injured and needing tending. "I only want to help."

She seemed to relax slightly, at least make no further effort to move away although she dropped her head, those dark eyes hidden by the black silk of her hair.

"Why would a Samartian help a Roman?" The words were little more than a whisper and the sadness in them was echoed in her expression when she lifted his gaze to his. Without thinking about it he reached out and stroked the cool softness of her cheek.

"Why would a Roman help a Woad girl?" He answered gently. She hadn't moved away from his touch, but he wasn't sure if that was because she welcomed it or was simply shocked at his audacity.

She shook her head, hair swaying around her face. "I should have stopped him. It's partly my fault." She looked down at Lucan, the tears in her eyes bright as the snow that fell outside. "I should have been stronger." She sniffed and gave him a look that was almost defiant. "Once I was stronger."

"And you paid for it." There wasn't any reason to make it a question. Dagonet had seen defiance beaten out of enough people to read Fulcinia's anger and bitterness better than he would have liked to have done. Reaching out slowly so as not to scare her he took the arm she had been favouring and gently pushed up her sleeve. Bruises were already beginning to form on her forearm and her wrist was swollen, but although she winced when he carefully tested the joint he was relieved to see that it didn't seem to be broken. " I should wrap this."

She gave a small smile. "It seems a bit pointless given that we might all be dead tomorrow."

Letting go of her, Dagonet reached for a pot of arnica balm and carefully smeared it over her arm and wrist before binding it. "Don't underestimate Arthur and my brothers. We've beaten the odds in the past."

"Even fighting to protect Romans?" she asked ruefully.

"Not all Romans are the same," he replied, and was a little surprised to find that his words were honest. He'd do his best to protect Marius because he was ordered to do so, but he'd fight for Fulcinia because the idea of the Saxons getting their hands on her was unbearable. She looked at him for what seemed like an age before swiftly leaning forward and kissing him. _Barely a kiss – it had lasted less than a moment and she'd barely touched his lips, _he thought, but he felt his body heat and his breath catch in his throat. Even in the dim light he saw her cheeks flush and backed away, realising that she was embarrassed by her lack of restraint. "Sleep here," he said quietly. "I'll find your son to stay with you and be outside if you need me."

Forcing himself to back away, Dagonet jumped down from the wagon and over to the fire. It didn't take long to find Alecto, and after shepherding the sleepy youth in with his mother, he kicked a patch of snow aside and settled down. When Lucan's small form curling against him woke him later he removed his hauberk and covered him with it, exhaustion claiming him only moments later.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The shouts of Marius's soldiers woke Fulcinia and for several long seconds she wasn't quite sure where she was. Panicking, she sat up and looked around for her son, relieved to see him to looking at her blearily from the pile of furs that had been tossed in the wagon they had both been sleeping in. Scrambling out of the wagon and sliding in the snow, it took her a moment to understand what was happening. What she saw made her freeze. Her husband had a knife to Lucan's throat, the boy struggling and looking wildly at the big Samartian brandishing his sword at Marius's personal guard.

Dagonet looked every inch the savage she had been taught to fear, and indeed the guards seemed intimidated as he snarled at them, his grey eyes flashing. They backed away despite the fact that Marius had obviously ordered to attack, but there were four of them against one.

_Oh Gods... Truly Marius must have lost his mind – what did he hope to achieve? _Fulcinia thought wildly. Seeing a bead of blood well up beneath the tender skin of Lucan's neck she ran forward. Marius smacked her away as though she was nothing, and for a moment there was nothing but silence, the coldness of the snow and the pain in her injured wrist and ribs. Taking shallow breaths, Fulcinia blinked away the ice that clogged her eyelashes. Pushing herself to her knees,heart racing, mind frantically thinking of something _anything_ she could do, she watched dazedly as her husband suddenly collapsed onto the ground, his eyes wide in disbelief, an arrow protruding from his chest. He reached out a hand to her and automatically she flinched backwards. The light died from his eyes before she could wonder whether to comfort or curse him, and instead she sat back on her heels, peering around the wagon. _Saxons, it had to be Saxons... No Roman or knight would dare kill Marius..._

Guinevere swept forward like an avenging angel, eyes blazing, her bow strung. When Scipio and Quintus took a step forward she let loose another arrow, close enough to intimidate but not close enough to harm. The guards stepped back, bewildered and with their master dead at a loss of what to do . When Arthur Castus and the knight with dark eyes and hair stepped forward they looked almost grateful at having someone to give them orders once again. The big Roman showed none of the kindness to her soldiers that he had shown to her -_and they were hers now since her husband was dead, weren't they? _Fulcinia thought with panicky realisation. She watched them cower before Arthur and inwardly despaired. Forty seven serfs, most of whom had never picked up a weapon before were depending on Arthur's goodwill to see them to safety, and since her guard had proved to be absolutely useless and he was obviously not going to punish Guinevere for killing his charge, aside from using her son as a hostage or gambit – both being both impractical and unconscionable, she had nothing of value to offer for her and her son's safe passage.

Lifting her head she saw Dagonet. There was compassion in his eyes, and she fought down the urge to run to him and let him provide the strength that she was no longer sure she had. Instead she looked at Marius's body. There seemed to be accusation in his sightless gaze. _She should probably do something with it,_ she thought. _Close its eyes or wrap it up. Marius was a man of Rome after all – he'd want his body taken back there. But how? The Saxons were closing in and they would all probably be dead soon anyway ... _When Alecto ran past her she grabbed his cloak and stopped him going to his father more by instinct than anything.

Shivering, Fulcinia managed to drag her eyes from her husband's corpse and when he shook her hand off, let her son go to it. The man had been a monster but for all his faults a good father. Her son deserved a chance to say goodbye. She met Guinevere's eyes, acknowledged the silent unapologetic defiance and nodded. As her uncle had said once long ago _"You reap what you sow." _Marius had chosen his fate the moment that he had built the dungeon, Guinevere had sealed it the moment that he had imprisoned her.

Fulcinia watched as the big blond knight took away the body, said something polite that she didn't really remember saying when he asked her if she was alright and took her son into her arms when he came to her. Holding him close she brushed her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. Alecto was a clever boy and saw through artifice quickly and so she didn't bother with platitudes. He rested his head against her breast while a shallow grave was dug, said the right things when they stood side beside the graveside surrounded by men and women who were at best relieved to see her husband buried and took her hand afterwards.

Walking a little way from the camp, Fulcinia felt numb. Alecto's hand seemed to be the only warm thing anchoring her to the world. For a moment she thought of Dagonet – so strong, so kind. Her lips still tingled where she had kissed him, _but that was a mistake, surely. A kiss was a mistake; once could be attributed to accident, twice would be folly. To be thinking of the touch of her lips against his when the earth covering her husband was not yet dry must make her a harlot. _She wrapped her fingers around her son's and concentrated on placing her feet down on the treacherous slope in the woodland. Dawn was rising and the snow sparkled like jewels, the trees silent watchers as they made their way down. Behind them the fires still burned and the knights were obviously packing up their belongings. A couple of horses obviously irritated at the lack of fresh hay barged into each other and had to be separated by Brynn who swore in both Latin and a what Fulcinia thought was Gaelic as he separated them, but down in the little valley where the ice crusted river ran it was fairly quiet since the Saxon's drums had stopped and close enough to be safe.

Alecto didn't say anything and so she watched their surroundings warily. His hair was longer than he usually kept it - _if they escaped the Saxons she would trim it,_ Fulcinia thought. He didn't look at her but nor did he let go of her hand. In the trees to the left one of Arthur's knights would have been invisible had she not been so rattled to take note of everything around her. _Tristan,_ she thought. The scout. He didn't acknowledge her but his keen eyes were obviously searching for danger, and that at least made them a little safer.

Trying not to slide on the icy ground Fulcinia wondered how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. She had tried to be a good woman but the lines blurred so often that she wasn't quite sure which side of the line between right and wrong was sometimes. _Honour your husband, honour your family._ But killing was a sin too, Fulcinia reminded herself, and Marius had slaughtered those who stood against him without any compunction. Sometimes for petty slights against his reputation, sometimes for power, but whatever the reason hardly justified in the name of the God he pretended to be blessed by. So should she be ashamed of being glad that her husband was dead? Should she be angry at the woman that had killed him? He was the father of her son. Did it even matter since the Saxons were closing in and they were probably going to all be dead by morning anyway?

"I'm sorry." Alecto's voice was soft, lost in her own thoughts it took a moment for Fulcinia to understand what he had said.

"For what?" They had reached the bank of the little river and her son stared at the water running beneath the ice with an intensity that worried her.

"I know that he hurt you." Alecto's voice was so quiet that she had to strain to hear him. "And I wanted to stop him, I swear, I had plans..." The sorrow in his dark eyes almost broke her heart. She squeezed his hand and he continued without looking at her. "I thought if I could be a man.. Strong.. like Commander Castus we could go back to Rome and I could build you a house for your own and you could be free." His shoulders shook and Fulcinia gathered him into her arms. She let him cry for a little while and wiped the tears from his cheeks when he had finished.

In a perverse way her son's breakdown made her resolve stronger.

"Nothing was your fault." She kissed his forehead. "But now we have to be brave. We have people to look after and we need to get them to Hadrian's Wall."

"Us and the knights."

"Them too. Go and find Commander Castus and see if we can help. Lucan and Guinevere can walk now if needs be, but there might be people that need tending to. I'll sort out the herbs and prepare the wagon for those that may not be able to walk." Alecto nodded and made his way back up the slope. He waited for a moment to see if his mother would follow and would have retraced his steps when she didn't were it not for a hand that landed upon his shoulder. Whirling around and drawing his sword he raised it to defend himself. Guinevere stood beside him pale and silent as the mist that threaded through the trees. She looked at the wicked blade and did not flinch when he traced the thin line of her collarbone before resting it at her throat.

"You killed my father." His voice came out as little more than a croak, and he was ashamed to see that the sword in his hand was shaking.

"It was him or the boy." Guinevere made no move to escape. "The boy was innocent. The only question remains is whether you are your father's son or your mother's."

For several long moments they stared at each other before Alecto lowered the sword.

"I am my own man," he spat, stalking back up the hill towards the camp.

"Then there may be hope for you yet," Guinevere murmured, heading towards the solitary figure by the icy river.

* * *

The hem of Fulcinia's skirts was damp and her feet in their woefully inadequate shoes were so numb that she had to glance down to where they rested in the snow to reassure herself that they were still attached to her body. Guinevere stood a little way across from the nook in which she had found. The young woman's dark hair was a stark contrast against the white snow, even battered and bruised she was lovely and Fulcinia found herself unable to meet her eyes.

"You're stronger than you think you are." Guinevere's voice was kind but she kept her distance.

Fulcinia gave a huff of a laugh and kept her eyes on the river. From time to time the current clashed the ice together so that it chimed like music. She watched the ice shards eddy and swirl and wondered how long it would take to drown.

"I don't know what to do," she said quietly. "Even if we survive this, there are so many of them to take care of and I've never been alone. Where would I even start?"

The silence stretched out, and wondering if she had been talking to herself, Fulcinia looked around.

Guinevere was halfway up the hill and gave her a sweet smile. _Perhaps you are not as alone as you think._ Unsure if she'd actually heard the words or imagined them, Fulcinia was startled by the crunch of boots behind her.

"Lady?" Dagonets grey eyes searched her own and she felt a warmth grow in her chest when she saw the concern in them. His tunic was buttoned up wrong, damp with snow and clinging to the broad expanse of his chest. For a brief moment she wondered what he would do if she undid the buttons and did them up correctly. Instead she nodded when he asked her to go back to the camp, kept her thoughts to herself and did not let go of his hand when he helped her up the slope.

**Cheers kind reading and reviewing people – a very Fulcinia orientated chapter but there will be more Dagonet in the next one. Happy 4th of July American type people and happy umm monday everyone else ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Dagonet concentrated on placing one booted foot after another into the snow. The incline he trudged up wasn't steep but it was slippery. Ahead was the camp. Fires hissing as they were extinguished, the all too familiar barking of orders, the whinnying of horses as they were separated from where they had been hitched, and the low thrum of fear and anticipation. The snow muffled some of the noise, still drifting down gently like a benediction or a curse, and the trees shielded most of what was happening, but the brief glimpses that he had of what was happening was no surprise.

Arthur was giving orders, the soldiers that had tried to kill him the night before meek and compliant as they set about preparing Marius's serfs for travel once again. For their part the refugees were holding up better than he had expected but they slowed them down, held up those precious moments before that little wooden box sent from Rome would be opened back at the Wall and he and his brothers would be free, and practically guaranteed them all a death sentence if Tristan couldn't find a way around the Saxons.

One look at Bors's face and he felt his heart sink. He'd ridden into battle with his friend more times than he could count and there was no joke or knowing smile at the woman beside him. Jols was checking the bows and distributing arrows, Arthur grim and nodding him over curtly when he noticed his presence.

_Time to fight._

Fulcinia winced when his hand unconsciously tightened around her smaller one, and he hurriedly let her go.

"I have to speak with my Commander," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Will you be alright?"  
She nodded, her dark eyes wide as she glanced over at his fellow knights. No fool was she; swallowing hard she met his gaze. "You're going to fight the Saxons," she said quietly.

"I believe so." There was no point in lying to her. It was unlikely that any of them would be alive to greet the next sunrise and fairytales were best left for Bors's children he thought with a pang of sorrow. He loved the little bastards and hoped that he could keep the promise to protect Bors that he had made to Vanora so many years ago.

"There are so many of them." Her voice was whisper soft but when she grabbed his hand and raised it to her lips her grip was strong and sure, her warm mouth against his skin sending every nerve ending roaring into life. "Please be careful." She released him and stepped back, cheeks flushed and eyes darting away from his, obviously a little surprised at her own audacity. One of her hands came up to brush away the hair that had escaped from its rough plait, pushing it behind her ear, and _Gods be damned, he'd killed hundreds, one kiss couldn't make much difference when it came to the judgement of his soul... _Fulcinia made a little squeak of shock when he pulled her towards him, but she didn't struggle when he dropped his mouth to hers, and after a moment she tentatively kissed him back, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, her eyes closing in concentration as though he were the first man to have taken the time to explore her.

_Cherries, _he thought. She tasted of cherries and summer, her body fitting against him perfectly. Soft curves pressed against his chest, the silk of her hair curling around his arm. Reluctantly he let go. Fulcinia's eyes were glazed, her tongue sneaking out to lick her lower lip, and in that moment Dagonet would have happily exchanged his papers of passage and years of hell for one hour, a locked room and a soft bed to share with her.

"You should find your son," he said gruffly."I wish you well, lady."

She nodded. "I.. Yes. Thank you." She gave him a smile of such sad sweetness that his chest constricted and turned away. Dagonet watched her go until she was swallowed by the melee of soldiers and refugees hurriedly packing up their belongings and tacking up their horses. He was so lost in thought that the sudden hand on his shoulder had him reaching for his sword automatically.

"Save it for the Saxons," Bors said without malice, dodging out of the way easily. Glancing at Fulcinia's retreating figure he raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? The Roman? If you want to get your end away then why not go for one of the maids – some of them are pretty tasty and probably not that fussy."

"If you're so keen on them then why aren't you chasing them? I'm not stopping you," Dagonet snapped, re-sheathing his sword and glaring at his friend.

Bors shrugged, indifferent to his friend's irritation. "They aren't Vanora. Not much point messing about with them – Van'd cut my cock off if she found out anyway."

Dagonet laughed despite himself. "We should have brought her with us – might have evened out the odds a little."

"Yeah." Looking over at Arthur who was giving instructions to Jols who was apparently not impressed at not being allowed to stay and fight, Bors gave a sad smile. "Well she's raising our own little army. They'll look after her." The last words were quiet, and Dagonet wished that he had words of comfort. They were badly outnumbered if what Tristan had said earlier was true, and he had no doubt that the scout spoke the truth. At the very best they were buying time. There was no way that they could win this fight. Looking around he raised a hand to Lucan. The boy looked at him curiously, tucked in a blanket at the front of Brynn's wagon, Fulcinia beside him, dark and beautiful, her eyes haunted. _At least he'd die fighting for something right and pure,_ he thought. He tore his eyes away from them and walked over to Arthur.

The big Roman's words washed over him, but there was really no point in understanding the specifics. He glanced at his brothers in arms; Galahad restless and looking even younger than usual. Tristan utterly impassive as he checked his bow. Gawain steady, his eyes ancient in his young face. Lancelot making an obviously barbed remark to Guinevere who remained glacially beautiful and by the looks of things was going to join them in their fight. Hefting the axe that was so much a part of him that it was almost a fifth limb, he followed his brothers down to the frozen lake and watched as the Saxons headed towards them.

* * *

"I can fight." Alecto's voice was sure and strong. The voice of a would-be warrior, and Fulcinia felt her heart freeze. Torn between pride at his bravery and absolute terror for him, she sank down against the side of Brynn's wagon with relief when Arthur forbade it. For it was true, wasn't it? This whole sorry mess was to keep Alecto safe so that he could go back to Rome. Selfish to be thankful that her one and only child was held in such esteem when so many others were risking their lives to keep him safe.

_Oh but the cost..._ The Saxon's drums were so loud that they seemed like a second heartbeat. Alecto's eyes were fierce as he clambered into the wagon, Lucan's frightened as he tucked himself into her lap, and Fulcinia wanted to scream. Pick up a bow like Guinevere, or perhaps a sword. Run headlong into the Saxon horde and keep slicing until they were all dead. Instead she sought out and smiled at Dagonet, urged Lucan to wave at him when Brynn clucked to Blossom and urged the carthorse away from the handful of warriors that were left to face an army.

Dagonet's expression gave nothing away as he raised a hand to bid Lucan farewell, but when his eyes met hers Fulcinia had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. Broad shoulders dusted with snow, his eyes sad but kind, he gave her a half smile as Blossom, bless her heart dug her hooves into the snow and got the wagon into lurching life.

_One kiss. That was all they would ever have, and she doubted that she would ever see him again._

* * *

The light was fading when the caravan of wagons finally stopped. There had been no news, and that in itself was both a blessing and a curse. No Saxon marauders had attacked, but none of the knights had caught up with them either. Fulcinia fingered the little knife that she used to cut up herbs. Against a well armed Saxon warrior it was a bit pathetic, but she was fairly sure that if she had to she'd be able to do serious damage with it. After all one of the bonuses of being skilled at healing perversely gave her an insight into where to strike when it came to killing.

Blossom tossed her head, her bit jangling as she scratched her shoulder, and unconsciously Fulcinia pulled Lucan closer. The boy snuggled against her, his eyes wide and watchful. Brynn didn't smile as he jumped down from the wagon to unhitch his horse, and Fulcinia noted, he took his somewhat battered sword with him. Alecto was helping some of the serfs who could wield weapons to arm themselves with the help of Jols, Commander Castus's servant, but they were woefully ill-equipped and untrained. If the Saxons got past the knights... _But no. Don't think of that. Don't think of Dagonet._

"They're going to win." Lucan's voice was so quiet that it took a moment for Fulcinia to understand what he had said. "Dagonet said not to be afraid so I'm not." Nonetheless his knuckles were white where he gripped her dress, and although she stroked his hair gently in an attempt at comfort, when the thunder of approaching hooves cut through the oppressive silence she almost threw him backwards trying to get between him and whoever approached.

"Sweet merciful God," she breathed as Arthur cantered his stallion through the trees. Guinevere held on to his waist, her eyes wild, her hair a tangle around her shoulders, and there was the blond knight Gawain, the angry dark haired knight – _Lancelot _she remembered, followed by the young knight and the scout. But where...

"No_." _Lucan cried out and her own denial was lost to the wind. The stocky knight – Bors, was struggling to both control his horse and hold onto the body that lay across his saddle. The position was awkward, the features lax, and for a long heart stopping moment Fulcinia was convinced that Dagonet had been brought back to be buried on the famed Badon Hill with those who had fallen before him.

"Lady!" It took almost a minute to realise that Arthur Castus had dismounted and was talking to her. Glancing blankly at the hand that had grabbed her arm she looked at him blankly before inwardly shaking herself and meeting his hazel eyes.

"My man needs assistance." He looked almost as worried as she felt, and she noticed blood running down his neck and seeping down underneath his hauberk. _First things first... _The young knight with the help of Bors was carrying Dagonet's big, alarmingly still body towards her.

"Put him in the wagon," she found herself saying. "I need water and more bandages." _Right. Alright._ Her mind might be a dizzying array of terror and panic but her voice at least sounded steady, Fulcinia thought, trying to steady herself. "Put him down on the blankets.." The young knight's grip slipped as he laid the big body down and she grabbed Dagonet's soaked hauberk before any more damage could be done. "Careful," she snapped. Looking at the huge man who had only a few hours ago seemed invincible she felt her throat close. Willing her limbs to move, she jerkily helped settle him down as gently as she could. _Oh God he was cold as death,_ she thought as she tried to find a pulse. Two arrows protruded obscenely from his side and his chest, and she felt her heart lurch. Taking them out would be dangerous at home in the clean and well stocked medical room. Out here in a rickety cart with the temperature only a little above freezing it could be fatal. There was a faint brush of an exhalation against her upper arm, and stroking the scar that traversed Dagonet's cheek, she tried to get Galahad's attention.

"Sir?" Her voice was tight, but the knight did not look at her. Well aware that time was running out, Fulcinia shoved him none too gently, finally getting his attention.

"I'm sorry." His eyes were wide and desperate as he looked at his friend, and for the first time Fulcinia noticed that he was trembling. Despite the armour and weapons he suddenly seemed very young, and taking his hand Fulcinia gave it a squeeze and tried to give him a reassuring smile. Beside him Lucan did not look much better off, and not inclined to be a babysitter when every minute lost might cost Dagonet his life, she tried to remain calm.

"There's a girl named Cate back in the second wagon from last. She's about your age with red hair. I need her to help your friend, will you please tell her to come? Lucan, you know who she is, will you show him? I also need hot water and more blankets."

Lucan nodded and scampered to the front of the wagon, waiting for the older man to follow. The young knight didn't seem to hear her, however, merely staring at the still body of his friend..

"Galahad, will you please find Cate." She raised her voice and practically snarled the last words as the knight seemed unable to tear his eyes from Dagonet's waxen features. "If you want him to live then you have to make haste."

Galahad finally nodded, scrambling out of the wagon and following Lucan without looking back.

With a shaky sigh Fulcinia willed herself to remain calm and appraised the man before her as a healer not a... _Friend, fellow healer, something so much more? _Pushing the thoughts away she examined his injuries and kept one hand against his neck to make sure that Dagonet's blood still pulsed. There was a brief horrible moment when she was sure that his heart had stopped, but then there it was – a steady thump against her fingertips. _If his heart was still beating then there was still hope. _

Dagonet's head was heavy in her lap, those grey eyes that saw too much closed, and Fulcinia thanked heaven for small mercies. The arrows had to come out, and it would take half of Castus's knights to hold him down if he were conscious.

The arrow that had pierced his side had glanced off his hauburk and although serious the wound could have been so much worse had the leather protecting him been a little thinner or the arrow fired a little closer. As it was the shaft had penetrated the muscle of his hip rather than his stomach and the arrow itself had been torn free without the tip breaking off. While still embedded in the leather it had torn free from the flesh. _Small mercies, _Fulcinia muttered to herself. Carefully probing the entrance wound which bled sluggishly, she was fairly sure that the arrow hadn't hit anything vital inside him and replaced the piece of cloth that one of the knights had torn from their tunics to staunch the bleeding. It would be easy enough to stitch so long as infection did not set in. Dagonet groaned as she gently explored the area surrounding the arrow but didn't flinch when she placed a hand on his abdomen. His muscles flexed at her touch but nothing seemed unduly swollen, and if God was kind then that meant that there was no internal bleeding.

"Hush, hush...You're safe," she chanted softly as she continued when he groaned. Dagonet flinched and his head jerked back into her stomach so hard that it drove the breath from her when Fulcinia touched the arrow still embedded in his chest. Gasping she gave them both a moment to get their breath back. Resting her hands on his powerful shoulders, Fulcinia tried to calm him as best she could, whispering nonsense words and silently begging Cate to hurry.

"I'm not going to let you die," she whispered. "Don't you dare give up."

**A/N: I didn't write the fight on the ice because lets face it if you've got this far on a King Arthur fanfic you pretty much know how it all goes down. I'll elaborate a bit in the next couple of chapters though. Thanks everyone reading :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Oh Gods..." Cate's ungainly scramble into the wagon came to an abrupt halt when she saw Dagonet's stricken body, and for a moment Fulcinia thought that she might tumble back into the snow. At the last moment she caught herself by grabbing the canopy, but wide-eyed she made no attempt to move further.

"Cate." Fulcinia tried to keep her voice calm. "Cate!" she repeated louder when the girl did not seem to have registered her voice. The order seemed to rouse the servant girl, and blinking, Cate turned her attention to her mistress.

"My Lady." Making her way forwards on her knees, she looked down at the injured knight with horror. "Is he..?"

"No." Fulcinia said sharply, answering her unspoken question. "And he's not going to die if I have anything to do with it." Cate's hand hovered tentatively over the arrow that was still lodged in Dagonet's chest, but Fulcinia grabbed her wrist before she could touch it. "The arrow has to come out," she said quietly, "but we have to be very, very careful. If it had hit his heart or his lung then he would have been dead by now, but unless it is taken out quickly and cleanly it could yet do damage, do you understand?

Cate nodded, her skin almost as white as the snow outside, her brown eyes worried, _but thank you God, _Fulcinia thought, _her hands seemed steady._

"The arrow's gone through his armour," Cate muttered. "How do we get it off without disturbing the arrow?"

"We can't." The leather of Dagonet's hauberk was thick for a reason and had probably saved his life, but even after slicing through the stitching that held the padded pieces together at the sides there was no way to get it off except over his head. "We'll have to pull it up and take the arrow with it, then apply pressure on the wound as quickly as possible."

"What if he wakes up..." Cate looked slightly sick. "It's going to really hurt."

Fulcinia was saved from answering by the arrival of Galahad and Gawain. Both carried buckets of hot water that steamed in the frigid air, and both wore identical expressions of concern. Lucan hovered behind them, his eyes huge in his pale, pinched face, and not wanting the boy to see what was about to happen she ordered him to go and help Brynn with the horses. Lucan looked as though he might argue, but after a moments hesitation made his way back towards the camp.

"How is he?" The blond knight asked, clambering into the wagon and wincing at the sight of his friend. Trying not to slosh the water he carried onto the blankets that covered the bottom of the cart, he tucked the bucket off to one side before taking Galahad's and putting it beside it. "Gods Dag, you stupid noble idiot," he murmured, "what the fuck were you doing out there? We could have taken them."

"No we couldn't." Galahad squeezed himself beside his brother in arms and Fulcina felt her heart sink at the utter desperation in his eyes when he looked at her. "He's going to be alright though isn't he?"

Taking a deep breath, Fulcinia willed herself to be calm. Against her fingertips Dagonet's heart still beat, but if she wanted it to continue to do so then she had to take charge and act while there was still time. For the hundredth time in what could only have been a few minutes she assessed the damage done to the big knight, the many things that could go wrong in trying to save him, and once again came up with only one answer.

"Sir Gawain." Her voice sounded very confident if unfamiliar to her own ears. "I need you to sit on Sir Dagonet's legs." When he looked at her with startled blue eyes she spoke sharply. "The arrow has to come out, it's going to hurt, and I can't risk him doing any more damage by fighting us." Aware that he was scrambling to do what she had requested, she turned her attention to the younger knight. "Sir Galahad, I need you to hold him here," Fulcinia said, taking one of his hands and placing it on Dagonet's uninjured side, "and here". She cupped Dagonet's jaw, tipping his head backwards and made sure that Galahad copied her grip so that Dagonet's airway would remain open but he could not jerk forwards . "Can you do that?"

The young knight nodded and braced himself, copying what she had told him, and giving what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Fulcinia turned her attention to Cate. The girl looked terrified but resolute, nodding when she asked her if she was ready.

"You pull the arrow out and I staunch the wound quickly," Cate said before being asked.

"That's right." Fulcinia clasped and unclasped her hands which suddenly felt sticky with sweat despite being half numb from cold before Dagonet had been placed into her care. Washing them in a bucket of water she managed to steady herself. "Is everyone ready?" Gawain and Galahad nodded, leaning forward and placing their not inconsiderable weight upon the older knight, and Cate tightened her grip on the wad of bandages in her hand and kept the other braced on his hip.

"Now." Fulcinia hooked her hand under the underside of the blooded hauberk, kept a steady hand on the arrow shaft and in one swift movement pulled the arrow out and the leather vest over his head.

Dagonet screamed, His body jerking and flailing in a desperate attempt to escape the pain. Both Gawain and Galahad gritted their teeth and did their best to hold him down. Cate throwing one leg over his free arm and sitting on it in an attempt to keep him still as she shoved the bandages onto the wound. The sound of such utter agony cut through her like a knife, but forcing herself to work quickly, Fulcinia told Cate to hold the wound closed while she bathed and spread a wine, oil and vinegar unguent over it. The big knight passed out quickly from the pain, which was probably a blessing, she thought with some relief. Trying to give him poppy syrup to ease his suffering would probably only end up in him vomiting while he was in such distress. Closing the wound with quick, neat stitches, She bade Galahad and Cate lift him up so that she could wrap his torso and quickly bathed, stitched and bound the wound to his side. By the time she was done she was exhausted, her fingers cramping and strands of her hair sticking to the sweat upon her cheeks.

"You can let him go now," Fulcinia said shakily. The two knights moved backwards, too large to comfortably fit in the cramped space, while Cate helped her cover Dagonet with several blankets.

"Will he live?" Gawain asked quietly. In the darkness he and Galahad looked barely older than Alecto, Blue eyes suspiciously shiny in the faint light. _Oh to have been dragged away from their mothers when they were but boys.. What other atrocities had been done in the name of Rome? _Fulcinia blinked away tears and brushed them away quickly as she pretended to tidy her hair. She was fairly sure that the knights would meet any attempt at comfort with as much welcome as a Saxon attack and would see through any lies easily, so she told the truth.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "He's lost a lot of blood and the chest wound was deep. I'll do my best to guard against infection, but I'm making do with what I've got and even if he was safe in a bed of one of my healer's rooms and not out here in the middle of nowhere I couldn't answer that question. He's in God's hands now."

"Fuck your God," Galahad snarled, "what has he ever done for us?" The young knight had pushed his way out of the wagon before Fulcinia had even registered his words. Blinking at his abrupt departure, she turned her attention to Gawain who shrugged. "Forgive him Lady. My brother tends to speak without thinking. Truth be told our own Gods haven't seem to have done much for us lately either."

_There wasn't much to say to that was there?_ Fulcinia thought wryly. All the so-called "men of God" that she knew were now dead. Trying to think of a suitable response she was suddenly aware of a trembling beside her. At first thinking in alarm that the wagon was sliding in the snow, she realised that it was Cate beside her shaking. The girl looked as though she might be going into shock, her gaze never leaving her bloodied hands, and finding a way to take the past moment's horror from both their minds, Fulcinia politely asked Gawain if he would mind escorting Cate to somewhere she would be able to wash and then find something to eat. The big blond looked at her almost gratefully at the chance to have something to do, and although the serving girl looked at her apprehensively, she took Gawain's hand when her mistress squeezed her shoulder and told her to go. Together they left the little crowded space; Cate looking back with an unspoken question of whether Fulcinia would be alright before letting herself be helped down by the knight.

Sighing, Fulcinia rested her head against the side of the wagon, watching as Gawain stopped and then slowed his pace when the petite red-head struggled in the snow. Cate's cheeks were pink, and she wondered for a moment if that was entirely due to the cold.

_But then attraction wasn't always simple or logical,_ she thought.

One hand still rested upon Dagonet's neck, the steady if weak pulse of his heartbeat far louder than any Saxon's drum when it came to her awareness. Studying the man beside her, Fulcinia traced the scar on his cheek so lightly that she barely touched his skin. Unconscious the stern stoicism that marked his usual expression was gone. He looked tired and strangely vulnerable despite his size. His eyelids fluttered and he let out a low moan, turning his head towards her, and shifting closer she let him nuzzle into her hip, stroking his cropped, suprisingly soft hair and running her fingertips down the curve of his strong jaw and the powerful muscles of his throat. Dropping her head she whispered nonsense words to him, poems and songs that she had once sung long ago in an attempt to soothe him. After a while he settled, and raising her head, dizzy with exhaustion it took a moment for Fulcinia to realise that she and her patient were not alone.

"Lady?" Commander Castus's voice was quiet, but even from a couple of paces away from the wagon she acknowledged the command in the request.

"Commander." Out of habit Fulcinia took a few seconds to think about how she must look. Hair tangled, half out of its braid, her dress spattered with blood, before realising that it didn't really matter. Marius wasn't going to punish her for not looking less than her best, and Arthur's attention was focused on Dagonet, as was that of the big man behind him. She'd seen him before, but never spoken to him. Heavy set and shaven headed he was a little shorter than Dagonet but no less intimidating. Shrewd brown eyes met hers as he followed his Commander into the wagon, and Fulcinia had the feeling that he was weighing her up as either a friend or an enemy, and if she proved to be the latter she might not live to see the morning.

"How is he?" Arthur's voice was quiet as he gently touched Dagonet's cheek. "Is there anything else that you need?"

"No." Fulcinia found herself at a loss watching the obvious affection and worry the big Roman had for what most would consider a slave. "I've done what I can, but we'll just have to wait and see."

Arthur nodded. "We'll have to move very soon – the Saxons may have lost one battle but there are many of them and they will keep coming. We need to get back to Hadrians Wall. Will you care for him Lady?" His hazel eyes were serious, and for a brief wild moment Fulcinia almost laughed. He could order her to do it, threaten God knows what reprisals if she didn't, but he was asking her as though she were an equal, and one that wasn't so... She hunted for the word that would describe the way she felt towards Dagonet and came up at a loss. Perhaps the term resided in a book that she hadn't read yet. Politely nodding her head, inwardly a little amazed at how the manners drilled into her since childhood could be summoned more by instinct than anything, she bid Castus farewell and turning her attention back towards the injured knight almost forgot that they were not alone.

"You care for him." The voice was low and coarse, and almost without thinking Fulcinia reached for the little knife that she had tucked under a spare blanket. Curling her fingers around the hilt she hesitated when she saw the big shaven-headed knight sat obviously uncomfortably tucked up in the corner of the wagon. He tipped his head sideways, obviously aware that she was reaching for a weapon and hefted a huge, somewhat bloodstained sword onto his lap. "Mines bigger than yours." The corner of his mouth gave a hint of a smile. "Just ask the rest of my brothers."

Fulcinia felt her cheeks flush at the obvious innuendo, but too tired to be afraid she gave him a dismissive glance. "Either be quiet or go away," she said quietly. "Dagonet needs to rest."

"That he does."_ Bors, that was his name, _Fulcinia thought as the big man made his way carefully past his friend. She was a little startled when he looked at her with genuine concern. "Can I touch him?" He looked unsure as to what to do, so taking his hand she directed it down onto the injured knight's good shoulder. The big man swallowed hard, and feeling more curiosity than fear, Fulcinia looked at him thoughtfully. "Sirs Galahad and Gawain said that he saved all your lives. Is that true?"

Bors took a moment to answer. Finally tearing his eyes away from Dagonet's body he gave her a half smile. "Bloody bastard only went running into a horde of Saxons and bashed his axe through the ice. Don't think they knew what hit them – most of them definitely didn't know how to swim when the ice broke apart." He looked at Dagonet with a mixture of pride and frustration. "He could have let us know what he was going to do – I'd have covered him, any of us would have covered him." Bors looked away and took a deep breath that seemed to shake the wagon. "Stupid stubborn ass," he muttered. Realising that Fulcinia was beside him he gave her a guilty look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Bad language infront of a lady – Vanora would have my bal..." Closing his eyes in frustration, he was obviously glad when Fulcinia took pity on him.

"No need to apologise, " she said kindly. "My son has told me about your..."_ Oh dear what was the correct term for an unmarried tavern wench with almost a dozen bastard children? _"Lady."

Bors snorted at that. "Van's no lady, she's more woman than any of those Roma ..." Realising what he had just implied he tried to backtrack. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a lady," he said hesitantly. His obvious discomfort almost made Fulcinia smile. Outside she could hear Brynn backing Blossom into the shafts of the wagon, and knew that they would be on the move in a few moments. Taking advantage of Bors's embarrassment without any remorse, she gave him a tired smile.

"You've already met my son, Alecto?" When Bors nodded she continued. "I can't leave Sir Dagonet, so would you and your fellow knights be so kind as to keep an eye on him? He can fight and ride well, but I would consider it a great favour if you would make sure that if trouble comes he isn't alone."

Bors gave her a grin and reached over to pat her shoulder before obviously remembering who she was at the last moment.

"No need to ask, Lady. He's a good lad, we'll take good care of him. He and Lucan have been helping mend the big wagon – if you want them they're close by." Getting up and shuffling hunched over so as not to hit his head on the waxed cloth that served as a roof to the wagon, he hesitated.

"Any change and I'll let you all know," Fulcinia said, anticipating his question.

"I probably owe Dag an apology," Bors said, more to himself than her, but Fulcinia had neither the energy nor inclination to ask what he meant. She watched him jump down into the snow and managed a weary smile at Brynn when he clambered up to the front of the wagon, gave her a quick nod and clucked at Blossom to get the carthorse moving. The wagon jerked into life, and faced with either smacking her head against the wooden slats every few paces or abandoning propriety, Fulcinia chose the latter. Wearily she lay down next to Dagonet on his uninjured side, tucking an arm around his large biceps and snuggling against him. _Not polite Roman behaviour,_ she thought tiredly, but then who was there to judge her?

Drifting in and out of sleep, jarred by the wagon's wheels bouncing over the frozen ruts in the track that they followed, the voice that woke her seemed more of a dream than reality. Only when she dragged herself into a sitting position and looked into Dagonet's eyes did she realise that he was awake.

"Am I dead?" Dagonet's voice was so weak that Fulcinia almost had to put her ear to his lips to hear him.

Once the words registered, she pulled back a little and cupped his cheek. "No," she said gently, "You're alive." He blinked lethargically at that, his grey eyes obviously struggling to focus on her.

"It was cold.." His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "The others..."

"Commander Castus and the Knights are unharmed." She smiled gently at him when his eyes sought hers for conformation. "You saved them."

He seemed to struggle with that information, and let out a cry of pain when the wagon bumped over a ridge in what was laughably described as a road.

Grabbing the waterskin that held a mixture of diluted poppy syrup, Fulcinia held it to Dagonet's lips and let him take several swallows. It took several agonizing minutes for it to take effect. The big knight did not so much as whimper again, but when she took his hand he squeezed so tightly that she was a little afraid that he would break a bone or two. When he finally passed out, Fulcinia followed him into oblivion, curled up beside him and utterly exhausted.

**A/N thanks very much everyone reading. Thanks everyone reviewing – hope that I replied to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – much appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

_The sky looked wrong, _Dagonet thought. _Didn't it used to be blue? _It had been a struggle to open his eyes, more of a struggle not to sink into the darkness that tugged at him seductively. It wouldn't have taken much to just let it take him and go to sleep; free of pain, free of worry, free of everything... _But that wasn't __where he belonged. _The idea was insistent, an itch he couldn't scratch. _He had something to do, someone he had to see... _Always present the pain was a dull roar, growing sharper as he fought towards consciousness, but he struggled through it until he was aware of the rocking motion under him, the cold of the air upon his face and the warmth of the blankets covering him. _The wagon, he must be in the wagon, _Dagonet thought dimly. There was something else warming him other than the blankets though...

With an effort he turned his head. Fulcinia was curled up beside him, a blanket pulled half over her head but doing nothing to disguise the silky mass of her hair spread in riotous disarray over her shoulders and his chest. Looking at her sleeping peacefully, he blinked slowly. The poppy syrup was making his thoughts muzzy – the pain was still there but more of a promise for the future rather than the agony it would have been without it, the rocking of the wagon soothing rather than jarring. Fulcinia was ever the same though. Soft and sweet in sleep, dark lashes resting upon pale skin, her lips half opened. Dagonet's arm was trapped beneath her, but although it was rapidly going numb, he could feel the faint thump of her heartbeat beneath his palm, the steady rise and fall of her chest. The plump softness of her breast pressed against his forearm, and he vaguely thought that it was glad that he was too drugged and wounded to be aroused.

Instead he turned his head and kissed her gently upon her forehead. Her skin was cold and her forehead wrinkled at the touch of his lips. She muttered something in her sleep and curled up closer to him, flinging one arm over his chest. The movement brushed against his stitches and Dagonet bit back a hiss of a pain, nudging her hand down carefully so as not to wake her. _His brothers were alright, the Saxons surely dead. She'd told him that. She had saved his life. _Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Dagonet let the poppy syrup fold him back into blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

Fulcinia was awakened by Brynn's less than subtle cough. He had brought Blossom to a halt and gave her a slightly embarrassed look when she blinked blearily and got to her knees.

"We're near Hadrian's Wall, lady," he said awkwardly. "I thought that you might want to..." The rest of the words seemed to escape him, and Fulcinia couldn't really blame him. Her husband had owned him up until a few days (God was it really only a few days?) ago and so telling her that arriving at a Roman stronghold wrapped in the arms of a Samartian knight might not be a good idea was overstepping societies boundaries by some distance. From the way his brown eyes lowered and he fidgeted with Blossom's reins, he too was well aware of the fact.

Giving a quick glance at Dagonet who by his steady breathing and lack of fever when she put a hand to his forehead was not feverish, Fulcinia gave a grateful smile to the young man that sat at the front of the cart and scrambled up to the seat beside him. He looked both confused and horrified as though a dozen Roman soldiers might spring up out of the snow and execute him for being essentially alone with one of their well bred ladies.

Seeing his unease, Fulcinia put her hand back in her lap when she had almost touched him on the arm to reassure him. Both the horses and wagons were getting steadily further away from them and the grey of Hadrian's Wall was ghostlike in the falling snow. Fulcinia wrapped her blanket around herself and glanced around. Nothing muffled sound like snow – already the creak of wagons and the crunch of hooves upon snow was barely audible. The trees that bordered the path were either stark stick figures or cloaked in white. No birds sang. The sun must have been shining above but Fulcinia could not tell where. Above the sky was nothing but a heavy grey. It was at once oppressive and strangely beautiful.

"We should go." The ruts in the road were already beginning to fill up as the snow came down, and with a cluck of his tongue Brynn urged Blossom forward. The carthorse dug her hooves into the snow, her harness straining, and set the wagon moving once again. Fulcinia looked back at Dagonet worriedly, but he remained sleeping, the jerk of the movement cushioned by the blankets tucked around him. Fighting back the impulse to go back and check on him once again, Fulcinia forced herself not to. He needed rest and he couldn't get that without her fussing over her every five minutes; besides there was something else that she needed to do first.

"Brynn," she said quietly. "I need your help."

He didn't look at her for a moment, merely made sure his horse kept her path and didn't try and trot to catch up to the others.

"With all due respect.." For the first time Fulcinia registered an edge to his voice. "What help can a serf offer a lady?"

_The bitterness was unexpected, although in truth it should not have been, but Brynn had been kind, both to her, the Knights and even Guinevere and Lucan. If she was to achieve what she thought that she could she needed someone to speak for her amongst the serfs. _Watching the rhythmic sway of Blossom's hindquarters as the big bay hauled the cart ever nearer towards Hadrian's Wall Fulcinia chose her words carefully.

"You said that your wife named your horse." _A cheap trick for gaining a response,_ she thought with no little guilt, but one that would surely provoke a reaction; most men did not allow themselves to be held up to ridicule amongst their peers by driving a horse with such a feminine name. He must love his wife who must be travelling with them. The very fact that he had spoken of her in the present tense and kept her well away from trouble was proof enough of that. She was rewarded by Brynn scowling at her, his eyes uncertain and fearful.

"Please. My Leaofe.. Whatever it is that I have done it has nothing to do with her; she is innocent."

"You haven't done anything," Fulcinia said firmly. "But it won't be long before we are at Hadrian's Wall. With my husband gone you, your Leaofe and the rest of the.."_ she struggled to think of a different word for serfs..._ "People will be taken or killed by other Romans as spoils of war if there is no-one to protest. I need you and your Leaofe to tell the others to defer to me as though I were Marius." She closed her eyes briefly in frustration. " I need them to act as though any rebellion would result in at least a flogging."

"My lady?" Brynn looked utterly confused.

Fulcinia glared at him in frustration. "They have to act as though they are mine or else they are free to be everyone's, do you understand? I have money of my own but it will take time to get to it, and I give you my word that everyone who came from my estate is under my protection, but I can't protect anyone if they don't pretend that Marius and I were equals."

Brynn looked at her as though she had lost her mind and barely helped Blossom miss a huge rut in what passed for a road. Quickly turning his attention to his horse, he steered her around it and took a long time to answer the lady sitting next to him.

"You were both Romans," he said quietly. "Marius killed my father and my brother – why should I trust you?"

_Why indeed._

"I am still Roman, The Saxons are still coming," Fulcinia said quietly. "Here Rome is falling it seems, but I still have some standing when it comes to the Empire. I will liberate everyone that I can, but that means getting everyone away together. Hadrians Wall will not be safe. Cate and Branwyn my maids will help if you get the word out."

Brynn was silent for several long moments and when he eventually replied his voice was so quiet that Fulcinia strained to hear him.

"Why?" he asked softly.

_Too many answers to that to properly answer,_ Fulcinia thought. She settled for the simplest. "If it is true that Rome has abandoned Briton then at least I can make sure that we all die free."

Brynn gave a snort of laughter and bit his lip to stifle a smile. Giving Fulcinia a glance he shook his head. "With all due respect my lady I'm glad that you aren't a Commander on the battlefield; I can't imagine many soldiers even stepping upon it with encouraging words like that." When Fulcinia's cheeks flushed, he hurriedly continued. "I understand. Thank-you. I'll get Le and Cate to spread the word." Whistling twice, pausing and then whistling three times it didn't take long before someone jumped off one of the wagons before them and hurried down the tracks that had been made in the snow. The woman that Brynn hauled up beside him had dark blonde hair, a heart shaped face and big blue eyes that studied Fulcinia worriedly, even as her husband drew her in for a kiss. After giving her a reassuring smile, the Roman woman slipped back into the back of the wagon. Brynn could convey her instructions without scaring the girl, and why not them have a little time in each other's company? After all who knew what tomorrow would bring?

Sitting down next to Dagonet, she should have been surprised when he opened his eyes and looked at her. God knew she had given him enough poppy syrup to knock him out until he could be moved safely from the wagon, _but then he was larger than anyone else she had treated._ She felt herself blush as she remembered helping Cate strip him of his sodden breeches. _Larger in all ways._

Taking Dagonet's hand, she smiled at him. "You're nearly..." She almost said "home" before catching herself. Home for him was some far off land not a Roman stronghold. "Back at Hadrians Wall."

"You'll be safe there." The Samartian's words weren't much more than a murmur, but Fulcinia found it hard to swallow when he lifted a shaky hand to touch hers. After everything he was worried about _her_? Carefully linking her fingers between his she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. His palm was rough, his fingers huge in comparison to her slender pale ones.

"You saved me." although he had to be in a lot of pain and drowsy from the poppy syrup, Dagonet's grey eyes were clear as he looked at her. "I am in your debt."

The gates to the fort were opening and they only had a few moments. Fulcinia's words came tumbling out before she had a chance to censor them.

"You kissed me in the snow. I will remember that. Your debt is already paid."

Arthur called out her name from somewhere at the front of the sorry parade of wagons and horses and Fulcinia slid away from Dagonet, not daring to look at him. Hunting desperately for her comb she found it beneath her cloak and dragged it through her hair, wincing as she ripped through the tangles. There wasn't much she could do about the rumpled state of her clothing short of stripping naked and changing into something equally creased, but while she might have been rebelling against the manners that she had been taught lately, that was going a little too far, she thought ruefully. Taking a deep breath she braced herself for what was to come.

**A/N This chapter was un-beta'd by Mulder and Mr Tibbs the cats. Never creosote a fence and then leave the tin in the vicinity of felines. The smell is like cat crack. (The tin is safely in the shed and I am a responsible pet owner and checked that that they were ok with my vet(the tin was sealed- they didn't eat any of it)), but bloody hell, try typing with a 18 lb cat trying to play piggyback and not being able to close the door because that is painted too. This is a public safety announcement courtesy of homeric.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**Here be smut, so usual drill - if you want to know what happens without the "m" rating send me a message and I'll send you a PG rated version. **

Fulcinia closed her eyes and fought the urge to fall asleep. The warm water that surrounded her seemed to wash away her thoughts along with the grime that had accumulated during the journey from her home, and it was with an effort that she rinsed her hair for the last time and made her way out of the baths and dried herself off. Dressing quickly in the clothing Branwyn had left for her, she pulled her hair back and tied it back with a piece of ribbon as best she could. The baths were neither as big nor opulent than those she had enjoyed in Rome, but they were quiet, warm and blessedly silent since Bishop Germanus had taken one look at at what he described as a "true Roman lady" and bent over backwards to accommodate her. Alecto had rolled his eyes at being fawned over, but at least the overly attentive guards that followed him whether he liked it or not kept him somewhat safe. Letting out a sigh, Fulcinia let her head fall back against the cool marble wall behind her. If Germanus wanted to play the congenial host then she was inclined to let him. He hadn't questioned her authority when she had politely but firmly ordered the serfs to be fed and housed, and hadn't objected when she asked for Cate and Branwyn to be housed in the rooms next to hers. Roman women needed their maids after all, and if she used the girls to make sure that her people were being cared for as well as styling her hair then that was no business of his. Arthur had Guinevere settled in the room next to his and no-one seemed to be questioning Marius's death thank God. Considering how badly things could have gone she, her son and the people who had escaped with them were lucky even with a horde of Saxons lurking at the edges at the wall and threatening to slaughter them all.

One of the braziers guttered, sending a couple of sparks hissing into the water and Fulcinia watched them disappear. The water might have loosened her muscles, but her chest still felt tight with fear. Whatever she did now would be subject to scrutiny; playing the part of a well bred Roman woman wouldn't be too much of a challenge – she'd been playing the part for years after all, but freeing Marius's serfs was going to be more difficult. People were money, and she had no illusions that Germanus would sell them off once she was inevitably shipped back to Rome and married off to the first man that would make the most advantageous match for her family's political agenda. _Shame the prize heifer is barren, _she thought with bitter amusement. _Her family wouldn't have any problem using her as a political gambit, but if she couldn't produce a child to whoever they were currently trying to make an allegiance with __she had no doubt that they would dispose of her and find someone who could_. Alecto would be welcome back in Rome, but that too brought up a dozen problems. He was currently in favour with the emperor because of his bloodlines, but that in turn made him a target for the many enemies in the senate. With Pelagius dead there was no-one that she could trust. Turning over her right wrist, she looked at the bruises turning yellow and purple on her pale skin. One last reminder of her late husband. She'd paid in blood and pain to uphold the honour of her family – she would be damned if she'd subject her son to the same hell. _What are you going to do? _She thought despairingly.

Slipping on her shoes she did her best to straighten her dress and tucked the stray strands of hair escaping from the piece of ribbon behind her ears before wrapping herself in her cloak. The bandage that Dagonet had bound her wrist with lay soaking up a puddle on the floor, and without really thinking about it she picked it up and squeezed out the water. The soggy bit of cloth was a sorry excuse for going to the healing rooms and returning it, but it was the only idea that she had. Cate and Branwyn had kept her up to date with the big knight's progress, but since she could hardly go and visit him without questions being asked, their vague answers were hardly enough to satisfy her, and made her itch to go and see for herself. After eighteen years of being married she shouldn't have been so caught off guard by a kiss, she told herself. Just because Dagonet had been kind and made her feel alive for the the first time since she was a teenager didn't mean that it was love.

_But the Saxons were almost here... Even if she was caught then what did it matter if she did try and catch a moment of happiness for herself?_

Clutching the damp bandage, Fulcinia slipped out of the door and into the passageway, almost knocking Cate who had been lurking by the door over.

"Sorry." The younger girl managed to grab her mistress's arm and the wall before they both fell over. Regaining her footing and shoving her dark red hair out of her eyes, she looked at Fulcinia nervously. "I was just keeping a look-out. I'm not sure that it's safe here."

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Fulcinia managed a smile for the younger girl.

"Thank-you Cate." Quirking an eyebrow at the small dagger that the red-head was trying unsuccessfully to conceal behind her skirt, she reached out and took it from her, turning it over in her hand. "Either you're trying to kill me while I'm having a bath or you are now a bodyguard as well as a maid in which case I should increase your wages."

Cate took the small knife Fulcinia offered to her and tucked it into her pocket, dropping her gaze onto the floor. "Gawain. I mean Sir Gawain gave it to me." She eventually dragged her eyes up to somewhere a little left of Fulcinia's left shoulder. "I know that you are looking after us – all of us and I wanted to be sure that you were safe because some of the soldiers aren't..." She struggled to find the words, "you know, good, and some of the Romans aren't either..." Obviously at a loss for words she just shrugged and offered her mistress the knife.

Tired as she was, Fulcinia couldn't help smiling. "I appreciate your loyalty." Placing a hand on Cate's shoulder she nodded towards the end of the corridor. "You should go back to the others though – it isn't safe to wander around the fort alone. Keep the knife, you might need it."

Cate nodded and took the blade back, but after a dozen steps she paused, her dark eyes bright in the reflection of the firelight, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"Sir Dagonet's been moved to the room underneath the healing rooms," she said tentatively. "Give me a moment and I'll get the guard out of the way – he's half drunk anyway." Cate shook her head when Fulcinia opened her mouth to attempt to defend herself. "If the Saxons come then what does it matter? You were always good to me and the others. Your husband was a bastard and since I was one of the people who had to undress Dagonet in the healing rooms and he kept calling out your name you might as well take what you want while you have the chance."

Slightly taken aback by the maid's honesty, Fulcinia wasn't sure whether to be outraged, embarrassed, insulted or elated. Cate didn't seem to be particularly contrite, and after a moment she shook her head and looked at the younger girl seriously.

"Not all Romans are like Arthur Castus. You can't speak out like that; try and be a bit more careful." Nonetheless she wrapped her cloak around herself and let Cate lead her down the worn stone stairs and dodge through the shadows that cloaked the far side of the courtyard and hid the door that led to the back entrance of the healing rooms. It took the red head only a couple of moments to lure the guard away from his post by the heavy wooden door. For a moment Fulcinia was worried that the maid would actually kick the man down the stairs, but after a few moments of quite unsubtle flirting Cate gave her a wink and led the man down the stairs carefully before glancing back and giving her a wink and leading the man towards the tavern.

_Right then. _Fulcinia found herself staring at the solid wooden door. The oak was reinforced with iron studs and the handle itself was a work of art. _Germanus had obviously spared no expense when it came to making sure Rome's wealth was in full display. A little strange then that it's soldiers were a mass exodus fleeing towards the coast._ Lifting her hand Fulcinia brushed her hand over the carefully wrought designs that had been carefully worked into the metal and didn't dare open the door. Swallowing hard, it was only the sound of several men arguing a little way down the corridor that had her opening the door, slipping through and closing it behind her. The cold weather had swelled the wood and made the door difficult to close. Shoving her hip against it and wincing at the impact she struggled uselessly with the door but the latch stubbornly refused to catch. Bruising both her arm and her side in an attempt to shut it and feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, Fulcinia wasn't particularly surprised to see Dagonet watching her.

"If you lift the door a little the catch slides easier." Even swathed in bandages and half lit by the fire that burned in the fireplace behind him, Dagonet seemed to dominate the big room that he and now she occupied. Propping himself up on one arm on the small cot he had been essentially dumped upon, Fulcinia watched the muscles in his arms flex and tried not to watch as the blanket covering him slid down the wide expanse of his shoulders and pooled around his narrow waist.

"I'll bear that in mind." Fulcinia managed to keep her voice level, but keeping her eyes from straying from Dagonet's face was difficult. Shoving the door upwards with her shoulder she managed to push the latch closed a little more and bought herself a little more time by doing so. "You'd think that if you were going to spend that much money on a door then you'd get a lock that actually works," she said with an desperate attempt at humour. Her hands were shaking and she had no illusions that the knight in the bed a few feet from her couldn't see her fear. When he quietly called her name she froze and focussed on the door infront of her.

"Come here." Dagonet's voice was gentle.

Fulcinia rested her head on the door and tried to remember everything and everyone she had to take care of. _Alecto, Marius's serfs, Lucan,Guinevere although she seemed to be able to look after herself now._

"I don't know what to do," she said desperately.

"Come here." This time Dagonet's voice cut through her confusion, and when she walked over to his bed she kissed him back when he pressed his lips to hers and traced her fingers over his ribs for once to see if he would shiver at her touch rather than wince when she changed his bandages.

"Could I.." Fulcinia didn't dare look at him. "Could I touch you?"

"If you like." It took a moment for Dagonet to find his voice. She looked so afraid that he kept himself as still as he could as she peeled down the blanket and traced tentative fingers over his skin.

"You're beautiful." He said quietly. Her cheeks flushed and Dagonet eased her down onto his chest, running his fingers through her long dark hair.

"Not really." Her voice was almost inaudible, but there was something bright and curious in her eyes when she rolled onto her side and dared to touch his stomach, glancing up at him as though she might have been doing something wrong. When his cock twitched as her hand ventured towards his crotch he stifled a laugh and was glad to see her tentatively smiling after jerking her hand away.

_Marius you stupid fucking bastard, _he thought, sliding Fulcinia's dress over her shoulders and baring her breasts before taking a nipple gently into his mouth, _raising a hand to her deserves whatever hell you've been damned to._

She gave a little cry when his fingers explored between her legs and wriggled backwards. Tucking her knees beneath her she traced the scar that traversed his face, let her fingers rest upon his heart and tried to keep still when her tentative touches proved to be far more arousing than those of the tavern girls he occasionally bought for an evening.

Dagonet let her explore him for a while before rolling her back on the narrow bed and easing her dress down her thighs and tossing it into the corner. _Such pretty long legs, _he thought, running his hand up her calves. Easing himself up he kissed her again, letting her settle into the uncomfortable mattress, her body going lax underneath his as he ran a gentle hand down her body before pulling up her dress and letting it drop to the floor. Nuzzling the inside of her knees he fought for control. He was so hard that it hurt, but if he was going to take her properly it would not be like this, when she was afraid and unsure of both him and herself. And if she did choose to take him into her bed it would not with a couple of dozen stitches hindering his movements and leaving her unsatisfied.

Stroking her hip gently, he kissed her belly and then her thighs, kissing the dark hair that graced her mons before licking at the slick pink skin beneath. She let out a little whimpering cry when his tongue opened her folds and he brushed against her clit, but leaning on her pelvis with his good arm he didn't let her squirm away when she pushed herself against his mouth.

"Dagonet, I , please.." Fulcinia bucked her hips upwards when he gently slid one then two fingers inside her. The stitches holding his side together pulled, making him wince, and moving his weight onto Fulcinia's thigh he kept up a steady rhythm with his fingers and suckled her with a rhythm that had her clenching around his fingers and would have woken the rest of the fort had he not had the foresight to kiss her so soundly that her attempt at crying out his name was muffled.

Head thrown back, her dark eyes almost black in the faint light, Fulcinia watched as Dagonet carefully lifted her up and re-tied her dress. She shivered slightly as he tugged down the hem of the skirt and covered her with the blanket that she had kicked off earlier and wondered what to say. Parts of her were still shivering and clenching, she wasn't entirely sure that if she tried to get up her legs would hold her, and she had absolutely no idea what to say.

When the knocking at the door became so loud that to ignore it would probably end up with half a dozen soldiers bursting through it, she made her way towards it and tried to look as dignified as possible when Arthur Castus looked at her in utter confusion.


End file.
